Adelson's Caricatures
by Rue Marie
Summary: In the bitter world, there exists a place where many people dare to forget. They refuse to remember the one escape that is offered to them, and in doing so, turn away a chance of salvation. This is the world of dreams.
1. Prologue

Ah, where to begin in explaining this. Well, first off, reader, this is not simply only written by me. Nope! I only posted it. And wrote some- half.MY DEAR CHRIS IS CO-WRITER.  
There you have it. In capital letters in hopes to make it absolutely clear! If you are familiar with role playing, then you should understand more. In any case, it begins with my writing, and spaces separate each other's replies from there. We will adore you if you comment regularly, which would be fantastic for you, because we are really quite awesome. AWESOME. Yes- that was in need of caps as well.  
Chris and I are drama whores. To...nearly an extreme. We love it, and if some of it appears almost senseless, you are going to have to forgive us. As well, we can write some odd things, considering the situation surrounding the fiction. Which I will not explain, because I enjoy leaving things to be wondered, and if you dislike that...then I feel fairly sad for you.  
Perhaps you may feel lost at times, in reading this, but it will all be made clear, as we near the end of this.  
And so enough of this, let it begin!

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** Adelson's Caricatures**  
Prologue

Encased, isolated, there is no noise. Silence weighed heavy, the smell of musk had vanished, as his senses fell more and more numb. Was he breathing? For surely one would most certainly be aware of their own respiration. A sharp inhale, after what seemed to be such a long spell answered this careless query. The air felt thick and cold, catching in his throat. His mind stirred from its idle sleep as his body shook though his vision would not clear, and still, all remained dark. His right hand twitched, and with a subtle movement, his fingers brushed against the black velvet of the mahogany casket. This was certainly not death, but still, his mind was drifting, slowly, nonchalantly, into unconsciousness. The world was not so forgiving to allow his death, and the indignant man, was not so ready. It was because of the only purpose that kept him living, laying in the form of parchment and ink, stored away in a room of the large, underground, ominous playhouse that stood surrounded by grimy, stone walls. His body stilled, and a sudden cold settled over his body, and yet he did not stir. It was merely sleep, after weeks of restive composing. Unfortunately, he must wake again, thankful only to be hidden under four cellars above, hidden from the cruel conjectures of the world above; solitary and a mystery; he felt jaded with it all, except for the riveting grasp of music. A wisp of shaky air passed from his pallid lips, and he contented himself with the thought of death. Soon enough, he would never feel again, his mind would fall into an endless abyss of decay. _'Soon, Erik will be dead.' _He thought wistfully, as consciousness faltered, his breath became shallow, passing from his lips in short, light wafts. Then, nothing- the fifth cellar of the Opera Garnier was void of human life.


	2. Nightingale

A little note to clear up any confusion: If the font is italic, it is not of the waking world.

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**Adelson's Carictures**

A patter of petite feet raced backstage, as heavy curtains betrayed no sign of the movement behind it. With bright eyes, forms of sea foam and fire competed to overtake upstage from the singers, even as the singers raised their voices over the deafeningly silent footsteps. No dancer missed a noticeable step, as they switched from a balance to the fifth position. Then, with a right foot front, demi-plie takes hold, with the foot gliding into second position. Then, a graceful leap, and birds in the air would soar along, landing, and putting up a sur le cou-de-pied front. Just as swiftly as the ruffled elements took the stage, they would flee, leaving it for the sopranos and altos to claim once more.Applause, loud echoing applause, would resonate from the high gilded ceiling. Laughter and chatting would flit about the palace, a caged nightingale beating its wings against glass. A resonance then, stealing the breath from the place. Lime lights would dim, their operators gone from their posts, to drink and sleep, and do little else. Silence would lend itself to the Garnier Opera House, and shadows now were the only things that would flit so briefly across the stage. Joie de vivre, the happy life. Ah-, an illusion it all is.But as the curtain falls, the gaudy people, the fake laughter, it went down with the heavy cloth. The masks fell, all so happy to dance, and sing, and skip together, now hated, despised, mocked each other. Amidst this world, this kingdom of falsehood, and deception, lay a girl. A girl as nondescript as the silhouettes that haunted the Opera house."Christine!" Shrilled an angry woman, with her face red, from the effort of not combusting. The girl, who was the subject of such an upset voice, flinched, turning to look at the woman."Madame Fleurel?" It was said as politely as possible, under the circumstances."If you can not keep up with our girls, if you insist of falling behind every half step, you will be out of here faster then you can drown a mouse! Get your head out of the clouds!"Wincing at such words, Christine nodded mutely, and returned to her tiny dressing room. Four grey walls and a tiny mirror were all the young girl could call home. It was better then the dorms she had to sleep in as a child, yet it was nothing so beautiful as the Prima Donnas, or the beautiful houses that lined the Parisian streets.Sighing without passion, the girl stripped herself of her stockings, and other dancing items. She was very much alone in the Opera house. It was filled with many orphans such as herself, but 'they are more sociable, and much more pretty?' Resignation on her shoulders like an iron lined jacket; Christine washed her face with cold water from the basin, and when that was done, knelt by her bed. She prayed to her father every night, taking from it, a kind of peace. With that done, she slid beneath the thin covers, and shivered, before she let the world fade away, and the hush envelop her. No one was awake this time of night, and it was only the scurry of rats, real and imagined, that woke a person._At first, she felt as if she had dreamt a truly dreamless sleep, until she realized that nothing had changed. Even the night around her was empty. No moon hung in the shallow sky. Pushing back weightless covers, the girl Christine examined her world. A sad smile touched her face, as she realized where she was. Every night, was the same as this. No one was in her world. It was the Opera Populaire, down to the very last scuff on the walls, and no one moved inside it, but her. She was free to do what she wished in this world. Free to sing, and dance out of step, and run the halls, and throw things out the window to watch them shatter. At first, Christine had done this, and rejoiced in her freedom, but all too soon, the empty feeling returned. 'I am utterly alone in this world. Completely and utterly alone.' Even then, when her world of dreams stopped becoming entertaining, she returned. Christine could not lie abed during this time though, despite her wishes. The girl was compelled to wander every hall.  
"I haven't been below? I will do that tonight." She decided, brushing her curling golden strands of hair behind her ears. Every night, her hair changed with her, as well. She was fond of it when it was black, but tonight, it had chosen to be blonde, and so she let it be. Crossing the stage gracefully, for she never need fear being ungraceful in her dream world; she came to the trap doors, and the stairs that led from them to the cellars. Most times it too was flooded, but tonight, it too had chosen to be different. Descending the stairs hastily, she walked past self-sustaining furnaces, gaping like monsters in the pitch, to props.  
"Le roi de le-?" Christine muttered, naming the pieces stacked against the wall. Sighing, finding nothing of excitement beyond the props, she returned up the stairs, deciding to instead, visit the roof again. It was becoming a favourite haunt for her, on the nights when she was not impassioned to do anything but wander. Humming tunelessly, she surmounted the colossal way to the top of the Opera house, and pushed open the door. Apollo rose with his lyre, but unlike on the real Opera house, there was also Artemis, Persephone, Eros, and Psyche. They were not at all faded, but cried out wordlessly, as stars in the nights.  
"No stories for me tonight?" She asked the night-time, alas, the wind held none of its own dreams; Christine could only wait for the first rays of the sun to peak over the Opera house, heralding the dawning of her own day in the real world. Regrettably, "That is hours from now..." she told herself resignedly._

A resounding crash broke the forlorn stillness that had settled over the wide cellar. The black water pulsated with another clatter, rippling like molasses and slowing only as the last of the sound dispersed. "It was here! This was it!" A voice hissed, the violent sound of crinkling mixing with the words. Furiously, Erik kicked aside the music stand to his left, turning his back swiftly as it clanged to the ground, hitting the wall with a crack. "But it isn't here now! Like yesterday, yesterday I had written it again." The viciousness in the man's voice drained in a breath, and he turned his back to the black tapestries, to the expansive organ that spanned the entire wall. Gazing at the disarranged sheet music, the anger that had once flashed in his eyes, sparked again, and he rushed forward in a rage. With a mighty wipe of his arm, the papers scattered, curving willowy through the air until they rested on the floor. A vicious growl emitted from his throat, as he turned away from the mess, crouching on the floor as his pressed the fingers of his hands to his corresponding temples. Minutes drifted past meaninglessly, as he waited for his anger to pass, with no care of stifling it. When his pulse had calmed his right hand drop and reached to take up a paper, eyes fixed on the ground. Only, when he felt nothing, Erik stood and turned to look toward the organ. The papers appeared as they had before, lying strewn and unorganised on the consol, selected pieces lying unsteadily on the Swell manual. In a listless gait, the man stepped to the organ and sat at the bench, gazing vacantly ahead. He began to mutter, as he lifted his hands to idly brush the Great's keys. "Again, that is all. I will write it again." Erik murmured melodiously, leaning forward subtly as his fingers pressed strategically on specified keys. He closed his eyes expectantly, to hear diapason chorus, only he startled when there was nothing. Jumping to his feet, Erik felt the bench fall behind him. He paused, and still nothing. Turning, he glared down at the bench, which lay silently at his feet. Drawing back, Erik lifted his foot to push the bench, and though it slid, Erik was deft to the sound. His lips moved, and in his mouth he felt the words pronounced, though he could not hear. Panic began to rise in him, and it was with his panic, he felt from the room. Erik began to run, only faster, when the sounds of his footsteps were silent. Coming to a stop before a set of large doors, he paused again, poised and listening. Nothing! Perhaps it was the house! Nearly frantic, he hurried to the front door, throwing it open to met complete darkness. Erik paused for a moment, looking back to the foyer of his home, pressing a hand to his mask to assure its presence before fleeing to the shore of the lake. The rocks under his feet shifted, but remained silent. By this time, his nerves had calmed, though now within it laid a sense of dread. Was he deaf, and so sudden? Leaping into the gondola, Erik untied it and withdrew to begin poling it through the black water. He paused, listening, able to make out the faint sound of the lapping water. And it seemed, the closer he got to the other side of the lake, the more he would hear. As Erik tied off the gondola and stepped onto solid ground, he was anxious to hear again, and as he neared a staircase, he pause, straightening up as he made to decipher the time- it was evening. With a rapid turn, he began to make his ascend back to the surface.  
Carefully, Erik stepped up the small set of stairs, pausing for a moment, before gently pressing his hand to the wood ceiling above him, and lifting it up. The trapdoor opened, with a faint thud, and Erik leapt up from the darkness. He closed the square door with his foot, casting a glance around the shadowed surroundings warily. When he was sure he was alone, the masked man took off again, at a gait he expected was as quiet as the lightest mouse. The irritation he felt at having to leave his work, and come to the surface when his influence was not need, had faded in his curiosity. He felt as if his mind was leading his somewhere, and if not, Erik ceased to care as long as the world was audible again. More staircases, more hallways, higher and higher, Erik moved with such ease, confidence in every step. Though, he met with confusion, as he exited a hidden door to the room, and was taken back by the light of the stars. Erik drew away for a moment, at a lost as to why the sky looked as such. On the few nights he had ventured out, the night was always as black as the cellars of his Opera house and so it was with cautious steps, he moved into the idealistic night. Erik paused suddenly, when the sound of footsteps that were not his own came to his attention. Striding forward, he moved to lean against the stone statue of Eros, and only when he realized this, did he frown, with no knowledge of its existence prior. The stone crumpled suddenly, and began to dissolve against him, and for a moment he thought it would collapse, but it had thankfully stilled another second later.

_Christine pulled her knees closer to her chest, as a chill wind picked up. "Odd...it's never been cold before..." She wondered aloud .Not even the barest flame of gold stoked in the kiln of the evening. More often, during her night time visits to the empty Opera house, Christine would sing, positive she was unheard. For the most part, only the mocking echoes would repeat her misshapen chords. So, bolstered by such evidence of desolations, the young girl began to sing.  
"A wash of memories,  
Black and white,  
Shaded and framed,  
Fading out of sight,  
I grasp, I hold,  
Trying to keep them still,  
To keep them forever,  
And watch them from my sill..." Silent tears fell down Christine's face, as she felt the bitter stab of loss once more.  
'Damn! I can not escape my father, even in my dreams!' She cursed. Taking a shaky breath she continued.  
"But the dream is running,  
Colours in the drain,  
Time won't stop moving,  
Walls are forcing us with strain,  
This pulling apart,  
Is all we've managed to create,  
Until the time to meet again... " Disgust and anger riddled the innocent girl's voice. Hating her own singing, and the fact that she could not escape the remembrance of her father, Christine struggled to stand. Sulkily, she scrubbed her face clean of the wet trails, and bit her tongue harshly. "Shut up! You aren't doing anyone any good with your moping. No matter that it is just a dream, you've been doing this awake too!" Scolding herself, Christine kicked a pebble across the roof, casting another anxious glance at the sky. No matter how much she wished it, time passed normally in the realm she occupied with sleep.  
A sound similar to the shifting of gravel, alerted the girl to the presence of another. Mortified, Christine cast about the empty roof, and saw nothing but shadows.  
"Hello?" She called into the inky darkness. Receiving no answer, she warily picked her way along the building, and was vaguely disappointed to find no one. Condemning her imagination, she once more looked at the sky, and with relief found that it was lighter then previously. Within minutes, it was a lavender shade. Retreating from the roof, and waving goodbye idly to the statues adorned in gold, Christine rushed to the bed she had woken up in, and pulled the blankets to her chin. As in real life, it took a while for her to sink to sleep, but the moment she did, a peaceful idleness overcame her being._  
Eyes fluttering open, Christine stretched. Her lack of real dreams never interfered with her body resting, though she was habitually far away from anything considered normal for a young woman. Her mind seemed to still flutter in the far reaches of the imagined and empty Opera house, instead of the large, bustling, cruel one that she was faced with."Christine Daae! If I catch you inactive once more time I swear to God, you will feel my lashes!" Falling back in step, the petite, pale ballerina forced the question out of her mind. It re-entered though, during her lunch of cold porridge and bread.  
'What was on the roof with me?' However, her ponderings were interrupted by the giggles of the younger girls. Pretending she did not care what they said, she let them talk in front of her, while she ate her meal.  
"Ohhh! Tell us about the ghost!" One of the younger ones, a sallow looking Megahn Giry pleaded, her sloe coloured eyes wide.  
Drawing in the attention, Jammes, a older girl, younger then Christine by a year, swelled with pride.  
"They say he built this place with his own hands, and that he would terrify everyone who worked here. Joseph Buquet said he was ugly as a skull, but no one can prove it, unless they go down to the dungeons and find him."  
'I'm getting too old for these stories.' Christine thought dispassionately. Bussing her tray to the kitchen help, the girl took full advantage of the two hours reprieve, by wandering Paris, and then returned to dance again. Dinner followed the same routine, and since no performances were scheduled that month, it would be solid rehearsals. It was with an odd reluctance; she said her prayers and slipped into bed once more. Effortlessly, the transition began, and within seconds, she was pushing back her blanket to lay her feet on the warm stone floor.  
_Fingering straight brown hair absentmindedly, Christine called about the Opera, questing for the presence she half convinced herself that existed. When she received no reply, she climbed once again to the roof, rejoining the night sky in her vigil to wait out_ _the dawn_.

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If you are even caring to read this, many thanks for giving us your time. Yes!  
Some enlightenment, updates will be done when we feel we have written enough for a chapter! Good day. 


	3. Crusaders

**Adelson's Caricatures **

_ With the sound of the young woman's voice, Erik had straightened attentively against the disintegrating statue. He noted immediately that it was discordant, inexperienced, and had potential. Erik had turned against Eros, stepping back carefully as he risked a silent sidestep, to glaze through the darkness to view the girl, whose voice was fraught with emotion. He gazed at her for what seemed like a long moment, as her singing ceased. He inhaled deeply, and though he felt nothing in his lungs, Erik appeared not to have noted the peculiarity. As he inspected the strange girl, he had suddenly been reminded of the sun. He had stepped back absentmindedly with this thought, and when the rocks sounded under his feet, Erik started and promptly turned back into the shadows. He had listened to Christine's voice once more, as she questioned his being, and confidant she had not seen him, Erik surreptitiously made his way out of the open air, and hidden back in the confines of the large Opera house. Erik had paused, looking back to the door, his hand still lightly place on the handle. "Very interesting." He mused quietly, before turning swiftly and fleeing to the lower floors of the Opera house. On his way down, Erik had stopped only once, backstage, to look up at network of unkempt ropes and reeled, decomposing backdrops. He glowered for a moment, then mistrusted his eyes, and shut them for a moment, opening them to find the backdrops were perfectly well. Carelessly, Erik turned and left the stage, down the side stairs, to ensure his rest of his Opera house was being well cared for, and was content to find everything in fine shape. It was only, when his inspect came to tiers, was Erik angered. The arras had been changed; it was obvious, from velvet to crepe, possibly to save money. Erik deciphered, it looked perfectly awful, and reached with a calm hand, to rip away the fabric. How easily it did so! The idea was ridiculous, and it was with great contentment, he went from box to box, ridding them of such, tossing the red crepes over the balustrades. At the first tier, Erik smirked faintly as he arranged the fabric, leaning forward to look down on the sea of seats, before his gaze rose to the rows of tiers, that each delayed a flag of red. It was then, that a voice reached his ears, and he swiftly moved out of sight. The voice was the same as the one that belonged to the young woman he had seen the previous night, or previously in the night. Had morning ever came? Suddenly, the thought was no concern of his, and his curiosity consumed him. Dashing out of the upholstered doors, Erik went to follow the sound of the girl's voice.  
On the roof, once again in the open night, he watched the young woman in the manner of a fascinated child from the shadows, as if he had not seen another human in years. Erik dared to venture closer to her, hidden behind the small cut in the wall, created by the meeting of two others. His desire to speak was greater when he heard no noise at all, though he always stopped himself when the correct words seemed wrong, and he afraid to frighten her._

_Christine bit her tongue the moment she first became aware of the feeling that she was being watched. The hairs on her arms rose, brushing against her nightclothes. The night passed as slowly as ever, and as the time passed, she became more and more annoyed.  
"Whoever you are, come out at once." The girl called. All too often in her life, she felt she was constantly being watched and appraised. She was an orphan, a woman of no value, other then her body. It had always been thus, 'And I can't even escape it here!' She thought with vehemence. The sun was not rising any faster, and the world was not obeying her. She would have scolded herself, if not for the sorrow that shifted to replace the anger. 'Mon Dieu, why must I always think of father when I'm here?' Christine took to pacing, to try and work out the energy that fretted in her mind. The briefest flicker of hope that perhaps it was her father watching her made her survey the roof more properly. To no avail, she could see nothing. There was no comforting arms, or heavenly violins to serenade her. She saw nothing to indicate his promise. "Am I supposed to think you are an Angel? Sent by my father to save me, and teach me?" The girl asked the air bitterly. Her frown became a mocking smile, the sadness eclipsing the youthful innocence of her spirit for a second. Then, as quickly as the sorrow had come, it was gone, leaving her feeling hollow, and incapable of emotion. This too left her as she sat down with her back leaning against the door.  
"Of all the places I could dream about, and of all the people I could be in this place, I'm the same me, in the same spiteful place." Christine mourned, self-pity consuming her thoughts. Tiny weeds sprouted from the cracks in the floor, and it was with a significant sentiment of pleasure, she pulled one from its hold, and shredded it with her hands, then blowing it to the wind. The wind that had been a constant reminder that she wasn't alone. Whenever she was, it was calm, and idyllic.  
Frustrated, she struggled to stand.  
"If you insist on watching me, I will go somewhere else!" The girl fired to the night, turning and wrenching the door open. With heavy feet she pounded down the stairs, and all but ran to the stage. She turned to catch a glimpse of anything, and with a cry of aggravation she saw no one. Suppressing the shudders that threatened to consume her and reduce her to tears once more. Christine moved more calmly, to her dressing room, a mere cell, and locked the door behind her.  
"I will spend my evening here." She confirmed with herself._

'_An angel?' Erik thought wonderingly, turning his back to gaze off into the darkness, as the girl treaded off from the roof. He listened for a moment, to the muffled sound of her footsteps, before walking out onto the open roof, the stone beneath his feet blackening with his steps. For a moment, Erik considered letting the girl disappear in the confines of the Opera house undisturbed. Though, a heavy sentiment of loneliness settled over him, as his gaze left the rooftop door, to the black sky. Had there not been stars only minutes before? Erik took a step toward the door, and as the ground stone around him began to mould into the night, he fled forward and entered back into the Opera house swiftly. Erik stood still for a moment, though with his entrance, the oddity that had taken place not seconds ago, was forgotten, and in its place was the picture of the girl. With light strides, the man hurried silently after her, descending down into the Opera house. It took little time for him to caught up with the girl, and he followed her, careful to remain unseen, unheard. He had been unsurprised, when the young woman had sought to catch sight of him from the stage, and was simply amused, as his position was much more to the left, hidden by a stanchion. He started after the girl when she had begun running again, pausing in the hall only when he heard the door shut ahead. He smirked faintly, as he stepped forward quietly, at the sound of the lock. Much a simple mechanism did not pose as a barrier. Though, Erik met this soon with mute sigh, and paused as he looked toward the neighbouring room. Sparing a glance to the door of the room the woman had entered; Erik noiselessly entered into the one next. Closing the door behind him gently, he promptly moved to the vent on the right side of the room and pressed against the wall. The strange girl was only in the next room; his gaze fixed on the vent. Perhaps she could hear? Erik's gaze left to search the room, and he was excited to find a small, black case. Praising the convenience, that passed without question, Erik strode to the desk, on which the object laid, and carefully flipped the brass latches. The polished spruce glistened in the nonexistent light, as Erik lifted the violin gingerly from the case. With a lithesome movement, he sited the instrument, and took the bow in his free hand. Positioning the bow, he stepped back to the wall, and with curiosity, he inclined his hand, and began to play the sonata of Corelli's La Folia's fifth opus._

_Christine willed the world she was trapped in, away. Then, the first few plaintive strings from a violin caressed the air. Suddenly, she knew nothing but pure joy, and true excitement at being so near to such a masterfully manipulated instrument. Almost on their own accord, her feet pushed the blankets away, and hit the floor in one graceful sweep. Then, not so gracefully, she stumbled to the thin wall, and leaned against it. In this state of ecstasy, the young girl remained, until the final plea drew forth silence. Stunned, she shook her head at such an odd occurrence. With this incredulous thought, came another. 'Who was playing that?' Memories of the rumours of the 'ghost' swamped her mind, but, surely with a wall between her and whoever else there was, she was safe, right? This being thought out, she gathered her courage._  
"_Who is there?" She called into the deserted palace. She crept to the locked door to double check it was still bolted, before returning to where she had heard the violin the strongest._  
"_Please…whoever it is, I would merely like to..." 'Like to what? Demand to know who you are? Accuse you of ruining my dreams?' Christine scoffed at her stupidity. 'Whoever was here has probably fled by now.' The sensible part in her mind informed her. Scowling at that sensible part; if mentally scowling is possible; Christine eyed the locked door warily._  
'_This is only dreams, right? I can come to no harm in dreams…' She tried to assure herself, as the Pandora in her rose to take over. She unbolted the lock, and stepped outside. Searching every nook, and cranny, she could turn up neither hide nor hair. Returning to her room, not even bothering to close the door, she collapsed on her bed. Irritated, Christine threw her hands up in a hopeless gesture, and pulled the tousled blankets around her small body. 'Whoever that is, or was, they sure enjoy driving me insane.' She thought sullenly._

_As the last of the music reverberated from the instrument, Erik's hands stilled, and for a moment, he stood silently. Only, when the same was returned, he felt imperceptibly dejected. It was to be expected; he considered the aberrational sonata had frightened the girl. In a placid manner, Erik stepped lightly to cross the room, to the dresser, only to find the case had disappeared. Looking down to his empty hands; he drew back with a start, throwing out his hands in bewilderment. In another second, Erik turned as if to take to inspecting the room, though was interrupted by the sound of a soft voice. Whirling around to face the wall, he stared vacantly for a moment, attention slowly returning to the young woman. Erik casually ignored her queries, and noted the crack of the door opening. For a moment, he was wary of the girl entering the room in which he currently stood. His eyes fell on the doorknob, as he listened to the patter of the girl's feet, and was put at ease to hear the door shut again. Returning to the wall, Erik leaned against it casually, letting silence rest for a moment before he turned against the wall and placed his face as close as his mask would allow, to the vent. "Had you tried to find me? Hopeless, I am afraid. I am...asomatous." Erik spoke, his voice almost foreign to himself, and though inwardly, his tone was derogatory, it sounded soft and dulcet as it passed from his lips and travelled through the wall to resonate off the four that made the woman's room._

_Christine jumped in her sheets, clutching the soft fabric to her chest. "That is not possible." The girl replied to the mysterious voice. 'Of course it's possible, you are dreaming!' She lectured herself. ' Normal laws do not apply in this world, you know that.' Christine wanted to ignore the soft voice; for all that she knew that it had been the shade which she had felt watching her. "How is it that you are a mere voice? It is rather abnormal for there to be a voice without a body." Her voice was slightly mocking, but she bit her tongue rather then continue. If she were perhaps trapped in a nightmare, she would hate for her to bring fear upon herself.  
"I mean no disrespect, Monsieur Fantome; however, you must see my scepticism is not entirely misplaced."  
'What if this is the Angel papa promised you? If you send him away, surely father would be disappointed.' Christine thought, returning to internal dialogue. ' Besides, it is hardly proper to talk to disembodied voices, alone do you not think?' Growling, the girl cast about her room for a clock. Alas, this time, her dream world ignored her will.  
"Monsieur, please, tell me who you are, and if not that, at least why you are talking to me, of all people?" 'A poor, orphaned girl who is not even that good of a dancer.'  
"I am no one of importance." Self-pity choked any other words she might have said, from her throat, and with a sob borne on the wings of misery, she clutched the blanket around her trembling form, as if it were the arms of someone who loved her, instead._

_Erik frowned faintly at the disrespectful way in which the girl had first replied, and with such, he had twitched as if to move. Though, his curiosity held him, and he was thankful it had done so. The sound of the girl's sob had him sinking back from the wall subtly, as it came as a surprise. Despite how she had been crying on his roof, when he had first seen her. The stranger's words were poignant, and the sadness echoed back at him with more intensity through the vent. For a moment, Erik could think of nothing to do; most of his heart went out to the girl for some indefinite reason, though the remainder scowled at her, disgusted with her display of self-pity. Pausing in consideration, Erik's gaze fell from the vent, to the floor. The girl had said she was unimportant, surely she was just another nameless member of the ballet corp., or perhaps a maidservant? In any case, what a waste of potential! Whatever tragedy had struck this girl, had caused such sentiments that had even him sympathetic, no matter how diminutive said sentiment was. He could make her someone, Erik knew, someone great and renowned. With a sudden twinge of enthusiasm, his attention returned to the vent and the girl who lay beyond it. "Mademoiselle," Erik began gently, tailing off melodically for an instant, as if taking extra care in not frightening her, "I speak with you, because to only you, do I offer my serves." He finished, mind reeling, as he sought to remember what the girl had said on the roof. Something of her father, sending an angel to teach her? What a convenient fairytale! "With only my aid will your voice excel." From here, Erik carelessly felt himself becoming carried away, and the passion in his voice augmented tenfold. "I am...your key to success, to the marvels and fervours of song. I am your angel, your angel of music." The vanity mirror, which sat on the dresser, slowly began to splinter with his words mutely, and at the pronunciation of the last word, the once clear surface, was designed with a network of cracks._

_Wonderment passed over Christine's face, as she became enthralled in the beautiful voice. "My Angel of Music..." She breathed, her eyes wide. Forsaking the bed completely now, the girl all but jumped up.  
"You will teach me? Just as father -"  
'No. It's not real Christine. This is all a dream.' Ignoring the splinters falling from the wall, as her cell of a room developed tiny fissures from floor to ceiling; Christine turned from where the voice had originated.  
'Still...why forsake such an offering?' "Please, I would like you to teach me very much...but..." A strange sensation, like a tugging feeling, eddied about her body. She had never stayed in the dream world so long, and now, she noticed the pull of reality.  
"But I must have some rest. Please, I'll be waiting for you tomorrow night." Not waiting for a response, Christine let herself drift away, realizing that a bed was not needed, when the attraction was so insistent._  
"-Daae. Mademoiselle Daae!" Christine's eyes shot open, and sitting bolt upright in bed, she waited for the light-headed feeling to pass.  
"Mademoiselle Daae. Finally you grace us with your presence!" "The severe ballet mistress looked down on the dishevelled girl in scorn.  
"You have slept in by fifteen minutes, you lazy slut. Up with you, and to dancing we go!" Rushing to dress, Christine ignored the giggles of other ballet girls, and the scowl of her teacher. When she was finally ready, and was able to tie her hair in a strict bun, the Corps de Ballet tiptoed along the hallways, to the practice room. Rigid criticism, and disproving frowns, was all Christine received when she did her fifth position, and grand plies.

_With no chance to answer the girl, Erik remained silent as her zealous voice filtered through the vent. His only reply, was a faint nod, which was obviously unseen by the girl. When all fell quiet again, Erik moved away from the wall. For a moment, he questioned his decision; though surly there was no harm. The girl would never see him; however, the world would see him through her; indefinite to their knowledge. Turning from the wall, Erik started, seeing his own broken reflection on the mirror with nearly a state of terror. Twisting aside swiftly, he stood poised for a moment, before the surprise fled, and instead excitement took its place. Erik dashed from the room, veins fuelled with anticipation, as he made the dark descend into the cellars of the Opera house. The lone sound of his light steps echoed through his empty abode, marking his return from the short sojourn above. He entered through the open doorway of his room, and strode impulsively to the organ. He sat at the bench, which was strangely replaced, and gazed vacantly ahead for a moment. "I begin a new project." Erik said softly, as he reached to gather the sheet music gingerly, as if the pieces were so fragile they would disintegrate in his hands. "Ah- tomorrow," he mused, setting the papers on the consol attentively, "Tomorrow; I will be an angel." Erik said, amused by the irony._

"You were talking in your sleep you know." Jammes teased Christine, as the girls did a cool down stretch. For a moment, the small ballerina did not know to whom she was talking, but Christine promptly coloured when she did.  
"Really?" She queried, trying to make her voice level, and emotionless. She waited a moment, holding her breath as she grabbed her feet with her hands effortlessly  
"And what did I say, mademoiselle?" Covering her titter with a hand, Jammes made some inarticulate motion. By Christine's puzzled expression, she realized it made no sense, and switched to laughing again.  
"All right…." Shaking her overheated head, Christine finished her stretches, and grabbed a towel to take with her to the baths.  
"Oh! Angel of Music! Come take me away!" A shrill voice resounded off the walls. Hunching her shoulders, Christine realized that it was Jammes, and the younger ballet girls were crowded around her, sharing in her cruel laughter. Hunching her shoulders, as if to block out the sounds that cut her deeply, she scurried away. No matter how fast her dancer's legs carried her though, she could not escape such a taunting sound. Stopping by her room to pick up some bathing supplies, then headed to the private baths close by.  
It took only a few minutes before Christine was soaking in a warm tub of water, her hair floating just on the surface. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to imagine what she would do. _'What if I go to sleep tonight and he isn't there again? Or what if I don't even dream of the Opera house?' _Pushing the doubts from her mind, and relaxing, Christine drifted between the two realms of sleeping and consciousness. Away from her room, and the Opera house, the sleeping realm felt different, less solid.  
'_And yet…I can feel the Opera house too…I wonder if the Angel is in the real Opera house too?' _Groaning, she sunk her head beneath the surface, and scrubbed as if to rid herself of all her troubles that followed her. The hard sponge worked to wash away the dirt, but the resentment at Jammes teasing, and her own outcast status, was harder to purge. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was return to her angel, and learn how to sing. Sing properly, and then maybe, 'Maybe, one day, they will have no choice but except me. I'll be better then La Carlotta. I'll excel past everyone, and all they will be able to do is stare at me, as I surpass their expectations. I'll be the greatest. Then, I can laugh at whomever I please too!' Spurred by this, she stood abruptly out of the tub, covered her nakedness with a towel, and dressed in a contemplative mood.  
'_The Angel…must only be able to appear to me in my dreams, because he does not know the way back into this world. If I showed him…maybe he could teach me awake and asleep!' _Tightening her loose, corset on her own, and arranging her skirts suitably, Christine walked back to the Opera Garnier, teeming with life, and swept among them, a renegade eddy in the tide.  
Her small appetite was diminished even more, with eagerness, and anticipation. Purposely, she took the long way to her room, so she would not have to pass the practice room, or the eating hall. The mere slip of a girl, opened her door, and shut it more quickly then most people can open their eyes. She locked it, and in case the ballet mistress came to wake her, she left a note saying she was ill. Then, as an added measure, she backed a chair up to the door. Christine truly hoped she wouldn't be gone for so long, that it would come to her precautions, but nevertheless, one couldn't be too careful. Changing into a fresh nightdress, the nicest she owned, Christine tried to fall asleep many a time, and found she could not. Only when she truly despaired at sleeping, did her eyes lids grow heavy, and sink._With a relieved huff of breath passing over her lips, Christine pushed the blanket off her body, and waited for the courage to come. "Angel? I've returned!" The girl called, not bothering to move off her bed. If he weren't there, she knew that the disappointment would be too great to sleep once more._

_Time slipped by insignificantly, as Erik paced his room, mauling over and situating lessons he would teach the girl. For the most part, his ideas jumped around in his anticipation, and it took him some time before he realized the scarce while they would have. Periodically, Erik would close his eyes for a moment, and find himself sat at the organ bench again. And though he did not remember sitting, he ignored this as if it was a normal occurrence, and stood to pace again. It was with much zeal that Erik deciphered the time of his leave, and he fled out into the open cellar to cross the lake. It was during this cross, some worry rose in him, though he stifled it by assuring himself the girl would never see him. When Erik had finally emerged from the dark catacombs under the Opera house, he dusted his dinner jacket off idly, as if working to control his eagerness. After a short pause, he dashed off to the right, and in a silent run, began to careen around the hallways of the large Opera house to locate the corridor in which he had been in some time ago. Erik stood still for a moment, listening warily, before stepping to the door of the room he had been in before, and slipping in without a noise. Moving to the vent, he leaned against the wall lightly, and heard nothing. He figured the girl was not in the room, and with an instant stab of impatience, he slumped against the wall. When finally he had heard Christine's voice, Erik had begun doubting her existence, and so he found himself pleased to know better. "Ah, good evening Mademoiselle. I had begun to imagine you had forgotten me." Erik greeted softly to the young woman. After some formal exchange of conversation, Christine had insisted on introducing herself, and he had responded in such a way that the impression was given that he had already known. The lesson began with hesitation on Christine's part, and halfway through her scales, when her voice caught, she would apologize profusely in a way that both irked Erik and entertained him. He would interrupt her by calmly instructing 'let us start again from the beginning'. When the first lesson was over, Erik had only murmured a polite goodbye to his student and moved out into the darkness, feeling content with the improvement she had shown in their time.  
Soon, when numerous nights had come to pass, Erik found himself more eager to hear Christine with every lesson. Their conversing became less diffident, and Erik was proud to say that Christine's voice had begun to show definite improvement. Certain evenings, the lessons would go on much too long, and when Erik exited the room, he found the halls lit dully with morning light. Sometimes, he would hear the sounds of the waking Opera house, always soft, and always unexpectedly distant.  
By the end of the third month, Erik had taken to melodiously complimenting Christine at the end of lessons, and though she was constantly self-effacing in accepting them, he always insisted he was being perfectly sincere; it was the truth. Christine learned quickly, and though he would occasionally catch mistakes, she accepted the critique well, and corrected it promptly. With no comprehension on his part, Erik failed completely to take notice of the constant thoughts of Christine that held to his mind. Below the Opera house, sitting at the expansive organ, he would think on her. The thoughts had first been simply concerning the lessons, though slowly, they slid into more sentimental reflections on her manner; times when she was sure she pulled a flawless note and how he would have to correct her, and have her reply be tinted with the sound of childish disappointment.  
As the leaves on the trees began to change to shades of orange, and tints of red and yellow outside, marking the beginning of autumn, Erik sat alone, at his normal seat at the bench before the organ, in complete silence. The world outside the Opera house seemed as it always had, distant, cold, and unimportant to the man who twisted the quill between his fingertips with little attention. Anxious for his lesson with Christine, his attempt at composing anything was hopeless. At their previous meeting, Erik had told Christine, without explanation, that their next session would be on the roof. He did so frankly, on the grounds that he longed to see her again. He fought to remember her face clearly frequently, and began to curse himself for not putting his attention in such sooner. As the plume of the quill brushed over his mask, Erik's mind began to wander again to the subject. As he gazed vacantly forward, mind engrossed in thought, the black tapestry, which decorated the adjacent wall, fluttered. The movement slowed, and as if the fabric turned to oil, it began to drip as it swayed. Placing the quill aside, Erik stood, mind set to ascend to the roof as he moved to the door, with no attention to Christine's name, that had been written on the floor in black liquid.  
Aware that he was early, Erik strode onto the roof, immediately being met with a cold chill. Had Erik not been so keen on his visit with Christine, he would have promptly noted the eerie, forlorn air the dark, empty roof gave off. Moving away from the roof door, Erik made to hide completely in the shadows, and watched the door attentively, waiting for Christine._

Christine shivered as she paced the floor of her bedroom. It was cold in her world, and still, she felt apprehensive on approaching her angel. _'Does he have a surprise for me?' _She wondered. Her evenings had been consumed by her music lessons, and though her singing improved, she could only realize that in private, when no one could hear it. Her dancing on the other hand had begun to suffer, as her mind drifted farther away from graceful steps, and lingered on graceful phrases, and beautiful words. With various lectures, and many hours spent working on her en Pointe, Christine was able to redeem herself. It was also because of this, that her connection to the realm of dreams was much more distinct. Exhaustion made her body ache for rest, and her mind for escape. Though, waiting for her particular evening's escape, she lingered on what to wear. She had a modest wardrobe of clothes. When her father had lived, he had spared no expense on his beloved daughter, though that might have been the reason for his death. Caring too much for her, and his music, and not enough for himself. Christine herself had fretted over what to wear so much, that in the end, she gave up, and went to bed in a simple taffeta gown, with the bodice a visible corset_. 'Why should I worry? He is an angel after all, though I do want to impress him. He's been so good to me.' _Smiling at this thought, the brief moment between awake and asleep passed by in a flash.  
_Her entire person quivered with excitement as she raced up the stairs, though she composed herself before opening the door to the roof. For a simple moment, Christine took in the view of the stars, though they seemed less bright. Smiling at Eros and Psyche, and making her way among the other statues as if they were old friends, the girl reacquainted herself with the roof and its patrons._  
'_Some little girls, got pretty stories of happily ever after, and I got Greek mythology.' Smiling at the strange way of the world, Christine finally summoned her courage to call on her teacher._  
"_Angel? Are you here?" Her voice echoed across the wide expanse of concrete and shining gold. A cool breeze, told her he indeed was, though she knew she would never be able to see him. 'Not for lack of trying though.' She thought ruefully._

_Still amongst the shadows, Erik took a moment to assure he was properly concealed, situated in the same position he had been the second night he saw Christine. Though, that night Erik's only interest in her had been sparked out of pure curiosity. Shifting against the wall mutely, he leaned forward to view Christine. As he watched her meander between the golden statues, Erik's heart palpitated, unexpectedly feeling some strange warmth, which caused him to absentmindedly shiver. He took a short moment to study her features carefully; burning them into his mind precisely before his attention reluctantly turned to ensuring he was still hidden. As soon as Erik's heart was allayed of his ardour, he almost wished he had not dared to view her. "Yes, I am here." Erik spoke softly, his dulcet voice seeming to emanate from all directions of the roof. There was a pause, as his echo settled before he continued smoothly. "Mademoiselle, you have made such a palpable improvement, and as your mentor, I am quite proud. There is still much work to be done, but my confidence in your voice is exceeding. Christine, very soon the world will hear you sing." The emotion in his voice rung pleasantly through the air, and tampered off soon after, leaving a lingering silence. "But at present, let us enjoy the evening, Mademoiselle. For tonight, we let your throat take respite." From there, Erik began to explain the outline of Jerusalem, an Opera full of crusaders, love, and assassination, on which production had already begun. "You have only practiced as a harem girl," Erik explained, with a hint of distaste in his voice, before continuing, "but you will not be seen as one." He guaranteed, prior to enlightening Christine that she will be practicing the role of Helene the duration of their next lesson.  
Throughout the lessons that followed, Christine met her angel on the roof, more and more often. He claimed this would be a beneficial way to make her project her voice. Helene had become a warm up for their music, and it was heavily emphasized as the date for the casting drew near.  
The Opera Garnier was always casting strange people for new roles; however, the leading roles were usually reserved for the active Prima Donna. Christine constantly shied at the upcoming auditions, and every time she even mentioned she might not sing, her Angel would acquire a hint of anger in his voice. This would banish any thought she had to not trying out. Then, finally on the eve before she would try out, there was a satisfied silence. Holding her breath, she waited for any criticism. None came, but instead, her Angel's voice came from everywhere with the words of 'You are ready.' Bliss and fear mingled within her being, as she sought to preserve the words inside her heart. 'Ready. Soon, I'll make him proud. Father, you will be proud of me.' With relish, Christine turned to the door leading back to inside. The sun tinged the entire roof a golden colour, and a strange shadow cast itself from Eros. Thinking it was her imagination; the girl addressed the sky. 'You will be there for my audition, will you not?' She asked. Receiving no answer, thinking her Angel had already left, she retired to her bed, to wake up once more in the real world._

The Opera Garnier was abuzz with chatting and voices, as people dashed to appointments and instructions were bellowed. A line of dancers waiting to be cast stood to the side, while the singers stood to another. Moving inconspicuously to the singing line up, Christine waited. Waiting for a woman to come around the line with a list, Christine signed up tryouts, and put down Helene as the character. Receiving an incredulous look from the list mistress, before she moved on, Christine bit back her urge to run as far as she could from that very spot. Nervously pleating her skirt, the girl gave up the idea of pacing, and merely nibbled on her lips.  
'Christine Daae?' A droning voice called. Swallowing her doubts, she rose.  
Some of the ballet girls giggled at the thought of 'Bete Christine' trying out for singing.  
"It must be because she can not dance, that she has to sing." Jammes said maliciously. This made Christine stand taller. 'My Angel thinks I can do it. This stupid human says I can not?' Eyes full of intense passion, Christine walked assertively to the room, and shut to the door herself. Her bravado faltered slightly, at the disproving glares of all who looked on her.  
"Ca-hem." Clearing his throat, the director of the Operas new production cast her in a cold glance.  
'It says that you will be trying out for the part of Helene.' He spoke monotonously.  
"Oui." 'Simplicity is the best Christine. Try for simplicity.' She coached herself. Looking her over, and making some scribbled notes, he gestured for her to begin. Taking a deep breath, and praying that her angel was somewhere.  
"Que m'importe la vie en ma misère  
extrème lorsque, hélas, pour jamais  
je perds celui que j 'aime? Comblant  
mon malheur, sur moi va d'un père  
tomber la colère... Seigneur! Seigneur!  
Ton bras m'accable! Sois secourable à  
ma douleur..." Her voice was powerful, as she, Helene, lamented her misfortune.  
"Mes plaintes sont vaines! Mon Dieu,  
brise mes chaines; termine mes peines!  
À toi rappelle-moi... Des jours pleins  
d'orages, voilà mon partage leurs  
triste présage me glace d'effroi!  
Termine mes peines, mon Dieu, brise  
mes chaines! À toi rappelle-moi!" She had, during her performance, moved from the door, to the front of table in which the casting crew resided.  
Eyes clearing, and her anxiety overwhelming her once more, Christine stepped away from the men. Silence eclipsed the reverberations of her voice, and the girl, now feeling the smallest thing, did a swift curtsy, and swept away from the room after they said their thanks for her audition. The ballet girls jumped away from the door, as Christine all but ran back to her room. Then her breathing, having been so controlled during her flight, began to become erratic.'Mon Dieu! I did it!' She knew then, that no matter how hard she tried, rest would not come easily that night.

_On the day of tryouts, Erik had been on nerves end, half in anticipation, and concern for his student. Because he was unsure of the time Christine would show, Erik had assured he was settled in the tight passageway that ran between the audition room, and the opposite wall of a corridor. Shifting against the passage wall, the other only half a foot from his face, Erik found that he strangely could not remember the last time he had moved about in his own Opera house so freely. Erik was wary of the thick dust that layered the passageway effecting his breathing, though this passed, when he noted carelessly that the dust laid as if it was completely undisrupted. Time passed slowly, as Erik scrutinized audition after audition. Some, he sincerely hoped would receive their aimed roles, and forcing himself to sit through certain others made him feel like a masochist. It was with a start, that Erik rejoiced at hearing Christine's name, and waited impatiently for her to begin. When Christine's voice first filled the room, and resonated through the wall, Erik placed his hands elatedly to the wall and leaned forward subtly. Immediately, he took to listening intently at every articulation, searching for some fault he should have mended. It was with a rush of delight, Erik was sure there was none blatant. The song resounded with skilled excellence and passion, and as her voice faded after the hurried tapping of her footsteps, a silence laid over the persons inside the room. It was with a swell of pride; Erik listened to the soft sound of a man murmur, 'unbelievable'. Erik turned swiftly on his heel and hastily strode through the darkness.  
The evening was filled with subtle disappointment. Christine had been incredibly late, and while he chided himself for waiting so long, with such a heavy sentiment of dejection, and it took all of his self-will to leave the roof.  
At first, Erik had been nearly angry with Christine, though in the emptiness of his home, he had forgiven her; and felt guilty at feeling such. He excused her absence, on the grounds that her reticent nerves were probably badly shaken. Erik spent the remainder of the night scrawling idly, his attention wavering to thoughts concerning Christine, and while he was sure the role was hers, Erik was worried the reigning Prima Donna would protest fierily. The producer would certainly not even try to snub her objections. "We will simply have to be rid of her then." Erik mused allowed, as the quill dropped from his hand, and he crossed the room to retrieve the mahogany apothecary box, placing it on the closed casket and opening it to take out a glass bottle and unstopped it. Taking out a porcelain mortar and pestle, he turned the white contents into the mortar and spent the rest of the evening concocting a heavy opiate._


	4. Hymns

**Adelson's Caricatures **

When Christine finally fell asleep, it was not to go to the glimmering place of the Garnier Opera house, but to a blank void that strangely fulfilled her unnoticed need for emptiness. When she woke up, she felt refreshed, and she all but skipped to the door, before her happy mood failed her._'My angel must've been waiting for me!'_ Cursing her selfishness, the girl dressed simply, and went to make innocent inquires into who received what role.  
However, the moment she stepped out of her room, the bee nest of activity prevented any thought from being directed towards such things. Jammes, it seemed, was her new best friend, as she and the rest of the ballet girls flocked to Christine during the morning meal.  
"Did you hear about La Carlotta?" Jammes asked her, her face mere centimetres away from Christine's. Pulling back, feeling her space invaded, but too polite to send the girl away, she shook her head.  
"No, what happened? Another tantrum?" Smiling inwardly, but putting on an air of indifference, the girl pushed her porridge about the bowl, noting that it looked much better then the other girls' meals. The lady, who served it to her, gave her a wink, sending her on her way. It certainly tasted better then before.  
"She fainted! She was yelling at the managers for something, and then she just fell. No one knows why, and no one can tell. She was sent home, and a doctor went with her. Some people are saying she was poisoned!" Little Meg Giry broke in, earning a fierce look from Jammes, as if to remind her of her place.  
"Some others are saying she has become addicted to her spray she has every time she sings. Sorelli told Meg's mother, who told Meg, who told me, that it most likely had some snuff in it." The uppity girl informed Christine.  
"Fascinating. Well, if you excuse me, I need to find out something." Abruptly quitting the table, and taking her porridge with her, Christine hurried from the dining hall, and the gossip, to find her ballet mistress. When she found her, the Mistress had something akin to pride in her eyes.  
"Congratulations Christine, you've been made Helene, after Carlotta fell ill!" Shock made her mind numb for a minute, and then the announcement finally sunk in.  
"Helene! Wait till I tell the Angel! Well maybe he already knows but still!' After Christine was brought back to reality, and was granted leave to miss practice for the day, seeing as how she would not be dancing, the girl ran back to her room. She wanted to cry out then, but did not know if her Angel only heard her in her dreams.  
_Not risking it, she locked her door, and pulled the blankets back. Her room had no windows to speak of, so lighting was of not a problem.  
The familiar feeling of willing herself away was a brief strike of lightning, before she was aware of the muted world around her. "Angel!" She called out, pulling the door open. It was odd, to stand in the Opera house in the daytime. Blurry colours moved past her vision, oil paintings in a water colour world. She avoided them as she best could, though sometimes she would walk into one, and feel an unsettling cold wash over her. Unsure what to do, she climbed the bustling steps to the roof, and pushed the door open. It was strange that in the day, the statues were mere silhouettes of themselves._  
"_Angel, can you hear me? It is Christine..." Voice trailing off, she crossed the roof idly, and perched on the ledge. She had all day, and night, after all._

The satisfaction in taking out the livid Prima Donna had Erik in quite a content mood throughout the day. With her fall, Erik had secured Christine for the role of Helene. His anticipation in seeing Christine clutched at him more intensely then it had ever before. The sound of her voice rang in his head, and the thought of seeing her threatened to drag him to the surface early. With this, Erik had begun to pace the length of his room, pausing periodically to look toward the door. He fought once or twice, to draw his mind elsewhere, only he failed miserably and willing gave up all together in deciding there was nothing else or no one else worth thinking of. It was not yet dusk, when his severe impatience had him hurrying to ascend to the surface world. The idea that he was impatient to do so, was nearly laughable, after living for so many years isolated, filled with contempt for humanity and all those who resided in it. But now, with Christine, who stirred a lovely, different sentiment then music ever had, had Erik yearning to see her, who was still a part of the civilization that caused him such an immeasurable amount of bitterness.  
Erik had stopped at Christine's room once, to check if she was present with a soft call of her name, and hearing nothing, he instead moved to flee to the roof. On his way, Erik's intent thoughts on Christine had completely stolen away his cautiousness. While careening around a corner, Erik startled and leapt back, as a pair of unkempt men appeared before him suddenly. Fear gripped at Erik, and he made to run, only when he turned, the men's backs were turned toward him, and they were walking the opposite way. One murmured something about the cold, before they disappeared around the corner. For a moment, Erik stood dumbfounded, before warily starting forward again and placing it as nothing else but luck. Upon reaching the roof, he entered through a door opposite of where they usually met to avoid being seen. Because of this, Erik had to move carefully to the other side of the roof, and while he moved, the light seemed to be smearing in the sky, and became only a faint glow. Taking his normal position, Erik spoke promptly, keeping the emotion from his voice. "Congratulations, Mademoiselle. The role of Helene is justly yours and is well deserved; you will give the aristocrats quite a treat. My emanate student, you will excel their prized Prima Donna." Finishing with a touch of scorn, worry filled Erik suddenly, and his hand, in which he gestured invisibly before him, stilled. Would Christine think she was not in need of him any longer? What of the fame? And men would surely flock for a chance to pursue his student, his Christine. And what was there stopping her?

_Startled, Christine almost lost her balance on the ledge for a precarious moment. Regaining it, she shakily moved away from it._  
"_Angel!" She cried, forgetting what she had almost done, in her pride._  
"_It was the oddest thing too! The Prima Donna became ill!" Laughing at such good fortune, she spun around in dizzying circles, stopping only when her breath was far from steady._  
"_If you had a body, I'm positive I would hold you right now and never let go! My father would be so happy!" Letting her unstable legs rest, she fell to the cement of the roof of the Opera Garnier, and watched as the sun set slowly in the sky._  
"_Angel?" She asked, not sure if her angel had stayed during her bout of sill childishness._  
"_What will happen now? You won't go away will you? You could still teach me right?" It was odd, how attached she was feeling for a voice. 'Still, my Angel provided me comfort in my time of sorrow. Also, he taught me to sing, and sing well enough to rise above my circumstances. I owe him quite a sum.'_

_What were they to do from here? The amusement Erik felt, in seeing Christine so ecstatic, faltered. There was still much he could teach her, concerning a great number of subjects and in every aspect of life. The wise decision would be to slink back underground however, since he had accomplished his set goal. Though, the twinge of sorrow that pricked him at the idea had him discarding the idea. Christine was such a naive girl! Erik chose the word naive with the gentlest precision, for reasons concerning culpability. With fame came the notorious libertines of Paris, who would surely overpower the girl with temptations and iniquities. This notion frightened him so, that Erik began speaking before he cared to mull any longer. "There is still much for you to learn, Christine; of marvels beyond your diaphanous imagine- you could know the world, as you never have dared to perceive it before. There are wonders of music you have yet to experience; and it is I and I alone, who can show it to you. But Christine...for this to be, you must devote yourself to two things, and two things alone, the discipline of music, and your mentor." While indicating himself, Erik gestured toward himself absentmindedly, pressing his back against the stone, and wishing he could see Christine. "If you do, Christine, on the eve of your premiere, after the world has heard your voice- you will see your angel as reified." With the reverberation of his last word, Erik's heart stilled. With those words, his tongue had decided before his mind that he would reveal himself to Christine. Only to her knowledge, it would be viewed as an act of divinity, and not one of pragmatism. Erik pressed a hand to his mask; it would still remain. With it, Christine would never know. And there was only so much a voice alone could teach. Erik excused his impulsive behaviour with this, which was made easier with the willingness he had to do so._

_Christine pressed her hands to her mouth. 'Me! Me, out of all the unfortunate girls in Paris. Out of every orphan and unwanted in all of France, I am to be the one that shall learn so much!' Admiration shone from Christine's eyes, as she stared at the newly begun night._  
"_I swear it Angel! I swear it on my Father's grave!" Strangely, the girl felt at peace with his death. Not that she did not miss him, but she felt secure knowing that there was something beyond death. That he had sent her an Angel, in his place. 'An angel who will appear to me…and only me!'_  
"_When shall we start? Oh - please, teach me the stars. Not the ones in this sky, but in the real ones." Smiling, Christine gestured vaguely._

_Leaning forward from the wall, Erik inclined his head to catch a glimpse of Christine, her enthusiasm inspiring his own. "After you have sung, Christine, after you have sung. And then you will be taught all you need to learn." Erik replied, voice carrying in the dark, before he stepped back into the shadows idly. "Rest, and practice my dear; I anticipate our meeting- you will not hear from me until that time." Tearing his gaze from Christine, Erik turned and fled into the night, and soundlessly from the roof.  
Hurrying down the long, empty hallways of the Opera house, Erik felt consumed by a light sentiment he could not name. Christine would see him on the fortnight, as an angel rather then a man, but it did not matter in any case. He would not be instructing from the shadows, but by her side, and perhaps then she would take notice to his gaze. Erik paused on the vase, stone staircase, in pitch darkness, of the fourth cellar, and waved his hand idly to dispose of the idea. He started his descend again, with his reeling thoughts pushed to the back of his mind.  
In the days that followed, Erik's excitement slowly dragged into sorrow. The thought that Christine would see him faltered dramatically, in the negative light that now shown on the aspect of her believing him an angel. All lies would have to come to an end, at one time or another. How many nights could he simply lead her to the roof, without inquires? And when Erik sought to pull himself out of his thoughts, with ones concerning their cordial conversations, he was only dragged down again, when he realized how his name had not passed once from Christine's lips.  
Nearing the end of the second week, Erik's mind had fallen into a state of stupor, that carried him around the never changing halls of his home listlessly. It was only of the day of Christine's premier, that he at attention with the world in which he was forced to reside. The familiar feeling of anxiety and uncertainty clutched at him again, marked with a sad sort of hope. He could teach Christine, below the Opera house, of all the marvellous attractions that existed in even the darkest of places. Christine, who was his student, and so frivolous and compassionate, surely she would sympathize if she knew! With weak assurance, Erik made his journey to the surface early, without a care of breaking the familiarities of his Phantom counterpart, as the ghost that ran the Opera Garnier. He would watch Christine from the first Act, and leave only when the last of her songs resounded.  
His trip to the tiers was of more surprise, and though he was early, Erik expected to have to work on remaining unseen after he had slid from the passage to the left of the door. Only, there was no one. The distant, muffled sounds of music could be heard, from the foyer, Erik presumed, that played to entertain the guests in the reception hall. Was that not the same that had played during the last performance? Erik stilled in the well-lit hall, and for a moment, tried to remember what it had been. Feeling as if he was suffering from amnesia, he pressed a hand against the upholstered door and strode to enter the fifth box. It was left empty; Erik was pleased, and was clean as usual, as the only one who dared to venture in it was the box keeper. Settling down in a shadowed chair, close to the curtains, Erik assured he was well hidden, before his nerves calmed, and he was left feeling impatient._

The weeks passed by, and every night, Christine felt as if her Angel was growing farther and farther away from her, after her initial triumph. This made her all the more desperate to prove herself once more. She threw herself into her practices, awake, and asleep, with a fervour she dared not even call her own. Though, as her performance drew increasingly closer, a new emotion started to bubble in the pit of her stomach. Fear. Many times, the words "I can not do this" lay on her tongue, a bitter accept of defeat, and her own idiocy. She could never say them aloud though, especially not to her Angel. 'A heavenly being does not want to hear about my sorrow.' She would mock inwardly, hating her weakness. So she persevered, until opening night shone like a beacon in a storm sodden night.  
With heavy feet, she was escorted by a high spirited Prima ballerina, Sorelli, as if only the elitists could talk to one another. Smiling vaguely and excusing herself, she went to costumes, donning each piece once, before the show, to ensure it all still fit, then she changed to her first once more. The plain wool spun skirt clung to her trembling body, as she tried to remember all her lines at once. Horrifying moments full of blanks, and thoughts of being laughed off stage, darted with ghoulish grins across her minds eye.  
Her traitorous legs carried her to the spot she would wait, until the opening curtain swept the dustless floor. Then it did.  
Inhaling her last breath of true air, she floated gracefully across the stage, her arm linked with her counterpart.  
"Non, ce bruit ce n'est rien. Mais il faut,mon Hélène, il faut nous séparer." Her Gaston sang, his tenor ending abruptly. Then it was her turn, and unlike her fears, everything fell into place. In startling clarity, her voice soared above the wooden stage, lime lights, and crowd.  
'_Go to heaven, so that Father could hear me now, and finally know that Lotte has become more then an absentminded girl!' _From there on, the awed crowd, the unearthly singer, and the dancers took such a wonderful opening to heart, and put on a magnificent show.  
It felt to the uplifted girl, that even as the first words passed her lips in a puff of breath, they were followed by the final words from all the chorus and main characters. "À toi gloire, ô Dieu de victoire! Enmémoire de ton ferme appui, que des  
anges, les saintes phalanges, en  
louanges éclatent pour lui!" '_Glory to you, oh God of victory! In  
memory of your unfailing support, let   
the angels, the holy hosts of heaven,  
resound their hymns of praise about him!_'  
With tears in her eyes, as if she too were gazing upon the holy city of Jerusalem with her beloved, Christine gave her heart and soul into every meticulously pronounced word, and let it carry to only God knew where.Silence, then a thunderous applause followed the curtain dropping. Then two curtain calls and three bouquets of flowers later, Christine was forced to change into a generously provided dress, and appear to the cast party. She pleaded a headache, going to the point of fainting, to get away from the crowd.  
When Christine finally deemed it was safe to 'wake up' anxious faces peered down at her, as she lay on the couch of an unfamiliar room. _'Perhaps fainting will be an immeasurably useful talent to develop…'_ Christine mused. Still, worry gnawed at her that perhaps her Angel would be unable to find her. She waited for her new room to be completely empty of people, before she called out to him.  
"Angel, can you find me? Are you here?" She called, ignoring a knocking on her door, which announced a Monsieur De Chagny. "Give me a sign?" She pleaded.

_Christine's plea had gone unanswered. From the exact moment the curtain fell, the fifth tier was abandoned. Despite the wish Erik had to relish Christine's performance, and the magnificent accomplishment that was both his own and Christine's, Erik desperately needed to arrive at Christine's room before her. Sliding into a passageway between two adjoining walls, Erik began a lithesome run through the network of black hallways. The walls became unheeded, and as he sprinted, mind in a sort of trance, attention only on the idea of seeing Christine. Erik paid no notice, as he seemed to be passing through walls, and would find himself considerably further then he had been moments before. Still, he moved with skilled ease, and arrived at Christine's room, heart palpitating rapidly, as he found himself inside Christine's room, with no knowledge of how he had entered. Instead of question, he only cast a glance around, and found the room empty. With a cry of irritation, and disappointment at the fall of his hopes, Erik turned swiftly and left. For some time, Erik wandered lost, along the hallways of the Opera house, which was deserted, for reasons he could not explain. Periodically, he would call out Christine's name softly, and it was only when it seemed he had done so a hundred time, did his voice weight heavy with sorrow. The words of reverence he had once fought to stifle faded in this time, as Erik feared the worst for his Christine. It seemed hours later, when Erik began to followed a pulling at his chest, and he felt almost as if he was being lead, and so he began to run. What the force had brought him to, was a lavish hallway complete with golden sconces and red carpet. From the number of doors that opened into posh room to the right, in front of the Prima Donna's dressing room, was a young man. He appeared perturbed and leaned leisurely against the wall, as if expecting someone. Erik bridled, when he heard the man murmuring, and scowled, his look of contempt hidden by his mask. They must have moved her for a time, Erik deciphered, and that boy must surely being waiting to bombard her! With a cold glare, he watched the man chafe his arm, before starting and dashing aside as the man turned to look in his direction. Inclining his head subtly and scoffing, Erik left the man to wait pointlessly, and instead fled to once again down into the bowels of the Opera house by hidden trapdoor. Starting along the dark, moist stone hallway, to the stairs, that ascended to another passageway that led to the swivel mirror of the Prima Donna's room. Behind the two-way mirror, Erik leaned to catch sight of Christine who lay on the upholstered armchair to the left, as if she had fallen asleep while waiting for him. With no time to scold himself, Erik instead, called out for Christine, in a melodious voice, that passed through the mirror, and reverberated through her room and back through the darkness in which he stood. When she stirred, Erik absentmindedly gestured toward her, despite him being unseen, as with a subtle movement of his foot against a steel lever, the mirrors began their illusion. "Come here, Christine. Step forward." Erik instructed, as a single violin began a dark sonata from somewhere beyond the walls. Christine's blue eyes were wide and hazed, and gazed through the mirror, and as she moved to pass through the mirror, Erik drew back into the shadows against the wall, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Suddenly, the music came to an abrupt stop, the glass snapped close noiselessly, and the hallway was consumed in darkness. A pause, Erik listened to Christine's erratic breathing, and then, movement tentative, he reached gingerly and grasped her wrist with delicate care. And then she screamed. The sound so startled Erik that he winced, and without a second thought, turned to slid behind her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, as the girl struggled, he lifted her off her feet, only she cried out again, and so Erik clamped his free hand over her mouth. Her scream cut off, and Erik was taken by surprise, when Christine's body fell limp against his. When his sound mind returned, Erik gave a mournful groan, which cut through the dead silence, and taking Christine into his arms, he strode down the stairs, to the flat cement of the second cellars. Slowly, Erik first lowered Christine to the ground, before giving her a fleeing look, and moving to the wall to retrieve a lantern from a hook on the wall. After lighting it, the light filled the cellar with a bluish glow, and it was in his lit, he kneeled down beside Christine. Erik placed the lantern aside, and situated Christine so as to rest her head on his knees. Taking a cloth from his pocket, he began to tenderly dab Christine's forehead, frowning faintly._


	5. Skeletal

**Adelson's Caricatures **

_A moan passed over Christine's lips, her eyes feeling heavy, as if they did not wish to open again.  
'What happened?' Her thoughts racing, the petite vocalist strained her memories. 'I was waiting for my Angel, and ignoring the Monsieur De Chagny outside, and then I fell asleep. Next I knew, he was calling me. I remember that. He called me, and I could do nothing but obey? I walked to the mirror, and there was a strange violin playing, and the mirror melted away, and I walked right through it, towards my Angel. But it was dark, to dark to see, and then something grabbed me, and I screamed. It felt like a skeleton's hand.' Shuddering, the girl forced herself to continue, unwilling to do so.  
'Then the same cold, skeletal hands grabbed my waist, and then something that smelled of death, wrapped over my mouth, then I must have fainted.' Shifting again, Christine's eyes fluttered open, her eyelashes brushing her pale face. A black figure towered over her, something in its hand. Flinching, Christine drew herself up, and pushed away with what energy she had. Recognizing the disjointed feeling of what was asleep, and awake, Christine realized she was in the Opera house of her nights. 'It still feels like my heart is about to beat right out of my chest!' She thought indignantly. Her indignation was short lived, as the terror of her situation, threatened to overwhelm her again, as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Compelling herself to stay calm, Christine took several deep breaths in the way her Angel had taught her, and began to puzzle out how she came to be in such a dark place, with a stranger who she never knew.  
"You are not a nightmare of this world are you?" Christine asked, wary, passing a tiny hand across her forehead, to wipe away the astonishingly real perspiration. Shaking away the absurdity of a nightmare living in the realm she was in, no matter how unreal, she muttered to herself a moment, before posing another question.  
"You have not seen or heard my Angel, have you? He was supposed to come for me tonight, to better teach me, and I was waiting for him before? Before I heard him call me?" Confused, Christine stopped, before painful realization dawned on her.  
"You are my Angel but you are not. You are only?" A sob wracked her body, and to suppress looking more foolish then she knew she did, she wrapped her arms around her legs, and Christine buried her face in her new skirts.  
"Only a man..."_

_At the sound of Christine's sob, Erik leaned back subtly, in a manner of concern as he gazed at the young woman. His heart sunk, as he felt his pretence, which had been so wonderful in bringing Christine closer to him, fade away with the echo of Christine's words. "Yes, so it is the truth!" Erik nearly cried, his placid tone, tinted with relief. "Your Voice is no angel! Your Voice is Erik." He enlightened hastily, as if only too eager to expel the truth. And then, with a sudden rush of fear, which came with losing Christine, Erik sunk lower then the girl, and clung to the skirts of her dress with trembling hands. "Do not feel ashamed Christine! It is my fault! Talents, miraculous talents, all used to mislead you! I shouldn't have done so!" He released Christine and cried out in self-contempt. "So heinous!" Erik growled at himself viciously and all but fell at Christine's feet- and unknown to himself, he began to weep. The dread, that Christine would despise him, stabbed like a knife to his chest, plunging in and pulling out with every ragged unneeded breath that escaped his mouth. "Oh, Christine! Love, love; I had done it all because I love you! And what a wretched love it is! Magnificent, but wretched." As Erik spoke, the cold cement beneath them shifted to carpet and the stone morphed into walls. Furniture seemed to manifest from the air, until what surrounded them was a tangible sitting room. The change had not fazed Erik; in fact he ignored it with a sense of normality, and continued. "Beautiful, respectable Christine! Do not hate me! For love, love...please, please."_

_Christine stared blankly at the man grovelling at her feet. It took a few moments for his words to register, and when they did, they offered her no reprieve. Shaking her head as if to deny the treacherous world, which was closed around her until the morning, Christine pulled her skirt around her tightly, not wanting his hands to hold it again. ' I should have expected as much from such a horrid place. So empty, and now…where am I? Mon Dieu, where am I?' Desolation assailed her from all sides, as she clumsily brushed away her tears. Everything had changed too fast for her to see, and she was otherwise engaged with the masked man's proclamation of love._  
"_What do you mean, you love me, false monsieur? You fooled me, lied to me, and now have taken me to god knows where, and you expect me to say what? I love you too, even though I do not know you at all?" Christine hissed, her voice choked with disappointment. Not wishing to sit anymore, she stood with deliberate slowness, and shook out her skirts, to rid them of dirt, and to occupy herself._  
"_False Angel, take me back." A small voice supplied his name for her, but she did not use it on purpose. She wanted nothing to do with he who so cleverly made her believe that her father was proud. That she had some way to talk to him. Her 'Angel' had preyed on her helplessness and 'And taught me to sing…and much more.' Sighing, Christine relented._  
"_Monsieur Erik…" She paused waiting for the man to fill in his last name. When he did not, she continued._  
"_I do appreciate every thing you have done for me…but you must understand I can not stay here. I will not stay here." Wanting to say more, but fearful, for all that her Angel ' no…he was never my Angel...', had never done her harm._

_Gazing up at Christine, as his words of lamentation silenced in light of Christine's own voice, he stared in patent misery at her, as if she were an angel granting judgement. And in another instant, Erik was standing with a woeful sigh that passed from his lips. The expression of sorrow reverberated off the walls as Erik's intent gaze wavered, and fell. "Then, I will show you out." Erik said, his dulcet voice fraught with remorse. The grief that once so visibly affect Erik's manner, had diminished, as he moved forward, gaze fixed forward as he so determinably kept from looking at Christine. "You sang divinely tonight, Christine." Erik spoke softly, and his voice calmed to that as if had been on every night of Christine's lessons, as he stepped forward, in the gait of a man locked in a trance. "How the heavens must have rejoiced in hearing such a voice!" He paused then, for a moment, before a door that seemed to have emerged from the very wall. "Je tremble encore... J'y crois à peine.  
Plus de haine. Ah, d'ivresse mon âme  
est pleine. C' est Dieu qui nous protège  
encore." Erik sang, and the despair that had once carried his manner, now laid bolder in his voice, in a way that brought what was meant to bring joy, to sound like a elegy. "That had been so wonderfully portrayed!" And done with his compliments, Erik opened the door, and turned to gaze at Christine._

_Christine sighed heavily, moving guardedly to the door._  
"_Monsieur Erik…why did you bring me here of all places?" She asked, stepping over the threshold lightly, but finding she could not continue. For some strange reason, she could only follow what path Erik was taking. 'It stands to reason that since this is his part of the dream, only what he wishes so, will be…and obviously, me leaving is not one of them.' With the same purposeful steps, she focused on moving past the door, and found was in yet another room. For every door Christine walked through, it seemed a veritable amount sprouted from the very richly carpeted floor beneath her feet. Trying to not glance at Erik too frequently, the former ballerina, finally having her fill of the labyrinth that stretched seemingly forever, she spun, her eyes annoyed._  
"_Monsieur Erik! Please, return me to the world in which I was taken from, or…" 'Or what? Will you yell at him? Throw a distasteful vase at his head?' Christine scoffed at herself._  
"_I will be quite a bit more unhappy then I am right now. Monsieur…I am not happy at all, just so you know where you stand." Cold and imperious, Christine fisted her hands in her skirt. No matter that he had been her Angel, that he seemed perpetually sad as Erik, he still had abducted her. 'And if nothing else, I can hold a grudge, if not a plie.' She thought mulishly._

_With his eyes no longer on Christine, as he seemed to be deeply concentrating on ignoring his dejection, Erik gazed solemnly ahead. He answered her questions, with nods, and sorrowful murmurs of 'yes' and apologises, that were so full of unhappiness, they nearly sounded insincere. Erik kept his attention forward, and did not stop until Christine shouted. His vacant gaze fell on her, and he took a moment to wonder on her words. "I had told you I would return you, and so I am." Erik said quietly, before unlatching the front door and pushing it open. What met them both, was the dark, cold, and musky air of the vast cellar. The light that shone through the door lit a path across the grey cement, to the black waters of the lake. The scene, that seemed to reflect the very loneliness of the house and all that occupied it, brought a sigh to pass from Erik's lips. "Do not be unhappy, Christine. You will surface soon, and then you will never hear from Erik again." With this, Erik slid into the darkness, and waited patiently in the dim mixture of light, and the darkness that seemed to be consuming it._

_Biting her fear that she would have to cross the lake by her own, and the very feeling of aloneness that came when he said she need not hear from him again, Christine stopped. All her instincts told her to run, and be free from the dark underground. Her very nature rebelled staying in the darkness of a closed place for so long._  
'_He may have lied to me, but while he was my angel, he only helped me.' She thought._  
"_Monsieur Erik, please, it is not that I do not want to speak to you, or hear from you but, I need some time." 'A large amount of time. Still, I cannot leave the poor man so alone, if this is where he lives. Dieu, it is so desolate. ' Steeling herself, she laid a careful hand on the shadow's arm. She knew he would take her back now, but the urge that made her want to comfort him, also made her need the comfort he had given her. About to say more, Christine's eyes caught on the mask the man was wearing, and a burning curiosity spring within her. As if entranced, the mask loomed in her mind's eye, until, in a sudden movement she had it clutched in her hands and after a small silence, she looked up at the man who lay beneath it. Only to discover no man was to be found. In stead of her former angel, stood a demon, in the guise of the dead. Bright eyes burned from beneath sunken sockets, and high cheekbones rose from the man's gaunt face. Then, it moved. Clutching the mask to her chest, and backing away, she heard a noise that was like the sound of murder victim. Then she realized it was her own voice, and found that she could not stop it. When the air ran out of her lungs, she clamped her mouth shut, and fixed her eyes on the being in front of her._  
"_I'm sorry! I did not know." She pleaded pitifully. "Please, I'm sorry!"_

_For a long moment, Erik stood silent, shocked and at first, unable to understand what had happened. His gaze fell to his mask, only it was not on his face. It was then, the misery Erik had felt seconds before, drowned in a flood of rage. A strange, feral cry escape from his throat, one that sounded so dreadful, it seemed that neither man nor beast could have possibly produced it. "Imprudent Christine! Prying, reckless, Christine!" Erik growled viciously, and lunged toward her. He reached forward and reached swiftly beside the left side of Christine's head, to enwrap his hand in her hair. "You could have had your freedom!" Erik cried, shaking her, as he pulled her away from her door and back into the sitting room. "Your freedom, Christine!" Then the door had disappeared, giving the room the look of a prison and Erik turned to face her. "Is this not what you expected to see? Oh! Why could not be content with only hearing Erik's voice?" He lamented, voice carrying throughout the room. "Well then look, look! Feed your foolish acquisitiveness!" Erik snarled, the anger returning to his tone as he pulled back Christine's hair, forcing her to look into his misshapen face. "And know; know that this is face of the man who loves you! Ah- damn your curiosity! Damn it!" Erik cursed, before snickering wickedly. "Now you can never leave! You may never go. I will keep you here!" He enlightened resentfully, laughter tinting his voice. "It is quite something, is it not?" Erik inquired; the anger in his voice suddenly vanished, and was replaced by a sardonic sort of placidity. "It is almost unreal! Oh- but I assure you, it is very real; perhaps you do not believe me? Sometimes I wish I did not believe myself, but it is Christine, it is! Why settle with only staring? Give me your hands," Erik instructed, and he released Christine, only she made to run, and so Erik quickly snatched up her hands himself. "Or I will take them! And feel the skin, whatever skin it is." His mask fell from Christine's hands and cluttered to the ground. Erik firmly brought Christine's hands to his face, despite her struggle, and aided in pulling her hands across the mauled flesh. "And so now you know it is real! Ah- you shudder- what an awful texture it is! How terrified you must be! To see the face my father never had, that frightened away even a mother's love!" Falling into incoherent murmurs that fluctuated from being vicious, to being ridden with anguish. Erik had released Christine, and weeping, the wretched man staggered and drew away from her, opening a door to the right with tremulous hands before slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. _

_Christine clutched her hands to her chest, rocking in a ball on the floor. She could dully feel the stinging that heralded bruises on her hands, and for all that she wished it away, her dream world was becoming more and more real. When she looked at her hands, she realized they were tinted with a dull red colour, and with a shriek, she recognized it as blood, and not her own. Suddenly, she did not even want to think about any world, especially the one she was in. Nevertheless, she could not resist from hating herself. 'I should have known he would not hide anything he did not feel he had too. He did not hide from me, so why would I be so stupid?' Her self-disgust abated as she shakily stood. The door that had been the exit for Erik had disappeared behind him. Disbelief coursed through her veins, and she could hear to pounding in her ears, as she surveyed her jail cell. It was tastefully furnished, with beautiful antique furniture. She giggled hysterically, to find that such a monster had taste that would be the talk of many salons. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she let the bubble of madness subside, until she remembered the blood on her hands, and she was gone again. Positive the walls were closing in around her, Christine's silence was broken with screams. She raced at the walls, beating them with vehemence._  
"_Monsieur, I'm sorry. I will not do it again. I won't tell anyone. Please!" She cried, her voice choked with fear._  
"_Do not leave me here to die. Please, Mon dieu please!" Christine screamed until she was hoarse, and when she could find neither the will, nor the energy, she crawled over to a plush Persian carpet, and lay on her side in a ball._  
"_Please someone…let me out…" She whispered almost inaudibly. She knew she would be able to wake up until she was free from the place she had been thrown into. Furthermore, she realized she was not alone. No…he was waiting for something. He would not let her die on her own. 'On my own...'_  
Monsieur Moncharmin paced in front of the new diva's door. Their new patron had complained that he thought she was ill, and it wasn't until the crowd had thinned, and the patron had returned home, that the new manager of the Garnier Opera house, thought to look at the truth behind his story. As his co-manager opened the door with a skeleton key, Moncharmin held his breath. Then, simultaneously they stepped through the entrance. Christine Daae lay on a couch, her breathing light. Relieved, Monsieur Moncharmin reached his arm out to shake the girl awake. When there was no response, he felt a stab of worry.  
"Monsieur Richard, retrieve a doctor…" Moncharmin muttered, absently looking the girl over. For the entire world, it looked as if she merely slept, but after sending a nurse to retrieve some smelling salts, and getting no response from the girl, he became deeply concerned.

_Half dragging himself across the threshold of what was his dismally adorned room, ragged sobs emitted from Erik's throat. The reality of the situation had him nearly trembling. A loud cry passed from his lips, that held anger, yet was fuelled by miserable thoughts. Before Christine had acted so thoughtlessly, there was still a chance! A chance, that perhaps the young woman he had spent to much time instructing, and whom he had so assiduously taught, and loved, may have learned to share his sentiments. Erik cursed himself viciously, for having thought so foolishly, before steadying himself with the bench before the wall of metal divisions and drawstops. "Oh, Christine, Christine!" Erik lamented sorrowfully, for pitiful situation she had put herself into, and for the horror he must have caused her. Anger flared again, for a moment, as Erik growled faintly and shook his head. The horror she caused herself! Erik decided, and his shoulders flagged, and a woeful sigh passed from his lips, that echoed back at him from the walls. Forcing himself up, Erik settled on the bench, and slumped forward listlessly, the singular tears that dropped on the lower manual, smearing red on the ivory keys. With resentment, disappointment, and culpability all crashing against one another, Erik straightened up and placed his hands lightly on the Great manual. And with quick, lithesome movements of his hands, from the many divisions of pipes, came the most dark, doleful music, that had, until then, only been heard by the composer and walls of the forlorn house. Fluctuating from soft octaves, that expressed years of sad, continues pains and anguish, to cruel tales that entwined and lay embroidered under violent mutations and vicious diapasons. And the loud curses at the world, and the tormenting thoughts of Christine, were drowned out by the intense blare of the music, as Erik's mind sunk deeper and deeper into its sound._

_Christine woke from a light sleep, and for a moment, she had thought she was free from the realm of dreams, until she heard the music. Shutting her eyes tight, and trying to block out the rude awakening, the girl almost succeeded until she felt a pang. Opening her eyes, and gasping in pain, she realized she had bitten through her lip, and was now bleeding. Fighting the urge to start crying once more, and completely breaking her delicate walls, the girl fisted her hands in the luxuriant carpet, and waited for the music to end. Only, it did not. It continued, until she was sure she would go mad.  
She passively let it continue, until the build up of anger, and rage snapped her fearful restraint. With an inhuman shriek, she raced at the walls and beat on them._  
"_Let me out! I swear to God, if you do not, I will, I will kill myself!" She threatened; then, she grew quiet, and surveyed the room._  
'_Perhaps if I die in this world, I'll wake up in my own!' The thought was comforting._

_At the sound of dull, heavy thuds, interrupting the despondent harmonics that resounded around him, Erik flinched. For a moment, he was angry, as his fingers faltered, and his hands stilled. And from the adjoining room, the last of Christine's words cut through the wall, and were heard as if she had been standing only some feet from him. Christine's threat made Erik start, and his once still hands, shook. Withdrawing from the manuals, the man appeared exhausted for a moment's time. A part of him wished Christine away, and the mistake he made in misjudging her and his own self-control, though, Erik was rebuking himself for the first desire only seconds later. Moving toward the door, Erik brought his hands to his face tentatively, the hideous flesh only too familiar to his fingers. How ghastly it must be, for Christine to threaten to take her life! And so suddenly, a heavy mix of both guilt and sorrow weighed his heart, and Erik stopped before reaching the door. Turning on his heel, he strode to the organ silently, and sat, back to the door, afraid, if he appeared to Christine, he would have to hear her horrified scream yet again. With a listless wave of his hand, the door opened, and Erik began to shuffle the papers on the console. "I apologize, mademoiselle, for not answering you sooner. The music, you know, was quite loud." Erik called soullessly, into the silence, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Is that what you want, Christine? You would care to kill yourself, to escape from here?"_

_Christine oppressed any rash urges, and instead, shook her head, though she knew he could not see her.  
"I would have killed myself if you keep me locked up within that room much longer." She warned. For a moment, Christine felt brave and powerful, though when Erik's beautiful voice broke through the illusion, she might have cried.  
"Monsie-...Erik. Please set me free. I will tell no one of...of what I have seen. ." The tone piqued a bit at the end of this sentence, as her panic disabled her as efficiently as any man could have. With her heart in her mouth, the girl left the now open room, and realized she had no where else to go. 'And he seems quite upset...' the girl thought. Dredging up all the lessons Erik had taught her, Christine approached him at the massive organ with ease; though she was sure that Erik would spot her lies the minute she uttered them. However, when she spoke, her voice was steady, and calm.  
"It does not matter to me what your face looks like. It is trivial really." Waving her hand flippantly, she continued to gain ground, even reaching the point where she had sat next to Erik on the bench, and looked him fully in his unmasked face. Not even flinching, the girl smiled, and gestured to the instrument.  
"Will you play again?"_

_From the time Christine had entered his room, Erik had not moved, and so remained perfectly still, gazing at the console intently. Without his mask, he felt ill at ease and exposed, and with his anger dissolved, even weak. His gracious resolve to keep himself still, to avoid frightening Christine, was broken as she sat beside him, and Erik shifted in discomfiture, refusing to look at her, despite how she gazed at him. And instead of responding with voice, to the words he yearned to be true, a miserable groan passed from Erik's lips, which seemed to reflect the very music he had been playing. That had been his only reply to what he knew to be Christine's lie. Suddenly becoming animated again, Erik straightened up, dropping his adroit hands to the Choir manual. "You will enjoy this much more, Christine. It is of the idle music that you are accustomed too." He murmured fairly mordantly, and from the pipes rung lighter, gentler notes, and despite how fastidiously played, it seemed trivial in the lingering sentiment of the sinister music._

_Christine avoided looking at the man directly, for every time she did, his face made her feel faint. 'How can a man have such a face? How can anyone who lives have the face of a corpse?' A shiver ran down her spine, and in an effort to mask it, she rose abruptly from the bench. She saw Erik stiffen, but she did not run, but instead walked to a small desk, upon which sheets of music were spread. They were empty of writing, though she was sure she could see where notes indented on the snowy white page.  
"What is this?" She asked, waving her hand towards them vaguely. Her ears were still ringing with the playing of his that had seemed more perfect than any she had ever heard before. She was; however, troubled with the music that had woken her. It was dark and almost frightening.  
"Will you play what you were playing before?" Christine requested, gluing her eyes onto the man's thin back. For all that it was so dangerous, it had seemed to have taken away much of the unmasked man's anger, and for her duration of her stay; which she hoped to be short, she wanted him to be as calm as possible._

_Worried, and with ill nerves, Erik listened intently to Christine's footsteps, afraid in that in some mere seconds, she would flee; only she had not. Instead, he felt Christine's gaze on him, and shrunk visibly closer to the manuals, having to stop himself from looking back and considering her queries. Suddenly, Erik stood rigidly, staring forward gravely. "I will play you anything but _that_ Christine. It was only on a misstep that you had heard. In any case, it is Erik's music, and Erik's music is not...benign. I am afraid it may have you _screaming _again." His last words came sharply from his mouth, and with flaring bitterness veiled by well-drawn placidity, Erik turned on his heel and strode from the organ. He moved with assurance, however he did not once glance at Christine, as if afraid to see her wince, and as soon as Erik reached the door, he turned briskly and exited. Though Erik's steps were lithesome, his hast was obvious, as he crouched to retrieve his mask and replace it on his face. After straightening up, Erik sidestepped as he turned to look through the doorway to Christine. "Instead, I will play for you, the song of Death's first dirge." With that said so simply, Erik turned away again, and hurried across the threshold of the room, to sit at the piano that seemed to coalesce from the shadows. "It is sad too, Christine, sad, but only so." Erik enlightened softly, before he began to play what was indeed, a melancholy euphony, and he sang, with a beautifully identical voice.  
"IF thou wilt ease thine heart  
Of love and all its smart,  
Then sleep, dear, sleep;  
And not a sorrow  
Hang any tear on your eyelashes;  
Lie still and deep,  
Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes  
The rim o' the sun to-morrow,  
In eastern sky.  
But wilt thou cure thine heart  
Of love and all its smart,  
Then die, dear, die;  
'T is deeper, sweeter,  
Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming  
With folded eye;  
And then alone, amid the beaming  
Of love's stars, thou 'lt meet her  
In eastern sky."_

_Christine shook her head, wishing to stop the dark songs from all they had gained entrance.  
"All of such heartrending things…" The girl murmured. Despite promising herself to remain cheerful and bright, she found the darkness around her no help, and with a great surge of pity for the man who lived in it constantly, she approached the piano with timid steps. Fleetingly, she considered requesting a song, but she knew not the way her angel might twist it. Laying her delicate fingers over the keys silently, as if to still them from any more troubling melodies, Christine shook her head.  
"Perhaps…perhaps you could show me about?" She suggested lightly.  
"Then…we can work on singing afterwards." Christine was being as cheerful she could. But her head still hurt from the hair that had been viciously pulled from it, and her wrists were sore from his skeletal grasp._

_Shifting his gaze from the keys, to Christine, Erik inclined his head to look up at her, staring with a vacant countenance. For a moment he appeared paused, before nodding subtly and, carefully sliding away from Christine, he stood. "Of course, mademoiselle. If that is what you want." Erik replied quietly, before turning and crossing to room toward a hallway, which was present only now. Erik, however, did not seem to realize this, and turned to face Christine expectantly. "There are many rooms you will find locked. Though, I assure you, there is nothing of terrible interest behind them, and so allay any curiosity. I would not want you to feel disappointed." Straightening up imperiously, Erik turned and bid Christine to follow him down the dim, short hallway. After passing several doors, he finally paused before one in particular, and opened it leisurely. "I am sure you want to see where you will be staying. This is your room, Christine." With this said, Erik gestured through the doorway, looking back at Christine._

_Biting her lip, Christine peered past the tall figure, into her new dwellings. Her heart plummeted to think she would be there for so long, that all the amenities provided for her, would be used. Smiling with a forced eagerness, Christine thanked Erik warmly, and took a step into her room. Beautiful Louis-Philippe dressers, and wardrobes adorned the charming room, and a bathroom was generously provided. When she knew Erik was not watching her every reaction, she realized the door had no handle on the inside, and suppressing a shudder, she debated whether to sleep with the door perpetually open. "It...it is very lovely, thank you Monsieur Erik." Christine was unsure whether to fully explore the room while Erik had left her, or to let him continue the tour, if it were indeed, to continue. In the end, she succumbed to honesty._

_"Monsieur, it is a very beautiful room, truly considerate. I do not however, know the proper etiquette that is to be showed in this type of...situation." 'After all, it isn't everyday a girl gets kidnapped in a dream world, and given her own room in hells keeper's own house.' She thought dryly, her fear all but dissipated in the light of her new surroundings. When Erik was near his organ, he seemed far less approachable then when he was in the world of the living.  
When Erik's intent gaze had left Christine, he appeared for a moment, somewhat brighter, and chanced a glance down the hall as if debating if he should leave her. Looking back to Christine, the worry that had been in the air of his manner dissipated, and he instead gazed steadfastly at Christine. "You are welcome, Mademoiselle." He bid, appearing relieved, having been sure Christine would only shun his efforts to please her. "And please, do not fret over etiquette. Your decorum is perfectly adequate. Furthermore, consider what is mine, your own. You are free to explore what is open to you. But you must be weary of my company and so I will leave you, Christine, so you may be free to do as you please, in these confines." As Erik spoke, pleasantly and calmly, he stepped forward, and reached as if to take Christine's hands in a gesture of farewell only Erik seemed to realize his mistake, and withdrew his hands. Shrinking back from Christine and averting his gaze, Erik murmured a voluble 'good evening' and swiftly disappeared from view down the hall._

_Waiting for the masked man to disappear from view, Christine threw her hands up in exasperation._  
"_What am I to do? Surely…no. I'm in this reality until I have…what? Amended for my curiosity?" The girl murmured to herself. Muttering crossly, Christine snuck a glance out of her doorway, and then checked in the drawers and closets. As she had suspected clothes in rich fabrics were provided for her. How he had gotten her size of clothing, she put down to the reality in which she found herself in, and with a blush she realized she was hardly clothed at all. Though she had slept in normal clothes, they were nothing compared to what she would have worn if she were going out._

'_He's wearing evening dress, and I, nothing more then second-hand cast offs.' Taking one dress out, after another, and shaking them out, she noticed that they were many different styles from ten to twenty years ago. Wondering why they would be so outdated. Ignoring the bustle that went along with the dress, and merely putting on the s-bend corset, and undergarments, in her closed bathroom, Christine paused to look at herself in the mirror and started. Before, she had been able to appear with any random hair and eye colour, but now, it was back to her own blue eyes, and boring blonde straight hair. Dragging her hands through it, purposefully disdaining the brush that had arbitrarily appeared, Christine hesitated. Becoming conscious of the fact that she did not want to leave the bathroom, and face what ever was outside her door. The face that had so shocked and appalled her. Steeling herself, she opened the door, and found nothing but an empty room. Releasing the breath she had been holding, Christine decided to take Erik up on his word, to explore, and exited the room. The hallways seemed far darker then she recalled, but pressing on, she ventured down the darkened corridor. 'He said I was allowed to look in every room, right?' She asked herself, pushing door after door open. Yearningly she stared at a row of books in the library. She could not read more then a few letters, her lifestyle previous to the Opera Garnier, had not left room for letters, and books. Leaving the door open so she would not forget it, she carried on. At the end of the hallway, was a room with a black door. Wonderingly, she pushed it open, and after looking in, felt ill._  
'_A coffin…someone died and is now...' Shaking, Christine pushed the door open further, slowly moving to the casket, she took a gulp of air, and peered into it. "No one…" She said softly, drawing back from the red silken covering. Then, a more frightening thought that someone had died, aroused itself. 'Who is it for?'_

It was very late, when the young doctor had been woken from his sleep via housekeeper that he had received a letter, imploring his assistance immediately to the Opera Garnier. He had begrudgingly informed the woman to ready a chaise and that he would be down in ten minutes time. Had it not been the second time he had been requested to see to a patient at the Opera, the doctor was sure he would have rejected the call. Though, he found it quite easy to wake, with the curiosity that arose in light of a second illness, this one of their surrogate diva. When the doctor had arrived, the anxious appearing managers who promptly bid him to follow them met him. He obliged, and found it quite rude that they had not even offered introductions. Though, his distaste toward their manners faded, when he began to realize the small crowd they had gained. Most of which were young girls, who spoke in hushed tones, giggling periodically, while some only followed in silent curiosity. One girl had, at some time, offered to carry his bag, at which the doctor politely declined the offer in wary mistrust, and was surprised when she scoffed. The crowd stopped before an open door shortly, which the doctor recognized, and he gently moved past the person that had wandered in front of him. A black haired girl scowled at him when, he supposed, his bag had hit her, and informed him to 'watch it' quite sharply. The doctor began to wonder if everyone who resided here was rude, if it was something that came along with being a thespian besides acting queer? He did not put much thought in it, in the end. The doctor did not like theatre much in any case.  
Despite the lavish décor, the doctor's attention went right to the being of the young woman who lay stoic on the couch. He began examining her, while the managers, in the meantime, could be heard shooing away the crowd. The doctor missed this, when the two men returned, and began to ask ridiculous queries, most of which only reflected selfishness. They only quieted, when the doctor stood and gave them a cold stare. "This is, as you could tell Messieurs, a very serious situation. She does not reply to stimulus, but yet her pulse is steady. She appears to be not ill physically, by what I can see, in the least. Though, it is my medical opinion that Mademoiselle Daae is in a state of catalepsy." He paused, and when he gained no response, the doctor began to clear the men of their ignorance. He explained, as simply as one could, that she is either suffering from epilepsy or is a victim of a serious mental disorder. He inquired if his patient had been known to anomalous behaviour. The managers only look at each other, then back to him, and replied that they could not say. When the doctor asked if she had any family members, or friends, he could speak too, they only responded in the same manner. It was with obvious irritation that the doctor instructed them to find someone that could give him the information that he sought, and added that he would remain with his patient until they could do so, as well as acquire a proper nurse. It was with that that the offended managers left.  
_From the moment Erik had left Christine, his mind seemed to be cleared somewhat of its misery drowned state. In the refuge of his grim room, he passed with quick strides, and periodically would murmur aloud his thoughts, all of which pertained to Christine. He had said, Christine would never leave, and while the idea offered relief, it gave sorrow, considering he had been the one who had announced it. And if he did indeed, keep Christine, it would be undeniable that she would hate him, if she did not by now. For a moment, Erik paused, and wrung his hands; Christine had been acting civil, though, since she had removed his mask. Perhaps, she had not been lying? Despite how Erik's heart palpated in contentment with this thought, he shook his head, reprimanding himself before he continued pacing. Time had passed considerably, when Erik gave up resolve to figure a solution the dilemma that presented itself. For now, his mind only settled on the simple fact that, Christine would not leave. And, with this cruel thought so simple to him, Erik left his room to search for the young woman. He located her quite easily, when he noted the open door to the library, and slid into the room she had entered as quiet as a shadow. Erik watched Christine for a moment, as she examined the casket, and considered saying nothing, until she turned to see him. Only, he caught the nervousness in her manner and decided otherwise in veiled concern. "That is were I had slept." Erik enlightened, pleasant voice disrupting the silence in the room. He strolled forward and past Christine and rounded on the casket. "I say had slept, only because it seems I am never tired lately." Erik frowned for a moment, before his gaze rose to Christine, and he stepped away from the casket. "It is not for you, Christine. Caskets are for those who are dead, and you are certainly not. So you have nothing to fear."_

A nervous woman was ushered into the room, as the doctor took several more tests on the unconscious Mademoiselle Daae. Unconsciously wringing her hands as the man surveyed her, and noted she would be a probable candidate for chest pains. Repeating his questions, he received a blank stare and hesitant answers.  
From what the woman told him, he was able to gather that Mademoiselle Daae was always absentminded, and she had no living relatives. Her father had been a poor violinist, and her 'aunt' was ill at the moment. The aunt, he surmised, was the woman who had taken her in. Suggesting that the ill woman take care of the ill girl, would be wrong in the poor man's opinion. Not feeling comfortable enough to recommend bloodletting, the young doctor finally consented to send the woman home with a Monsieur De Chagny. He claimed to be a close friend, though the doctor could see the tenderness in his eyes as he gazed at the sleeping girl with bloodshot eyes. The doctor was not satisfied with simply letting the girl go unchecked, and so, assuring her maiden hood intact and vowing to reassure it was during his next check-up, the man sent the two away from sight and mind.

_Christine nodded, her mouth running dry at such a casual companionship with death. Clearing her throat, she spread her hands out, palms turned upwards like a beggars._  
"_I'm sorry Monsieur. I did not mean to intrude on your private room. I thought that when you said I was free to look about, still, if I had known, I would not have entered." With a poor attempt to smile, Christine edged to the door, not wishing to look at the coffin again._  
"_Will you show me the library yourself? If it is not too much trouble?" Christine requested, as she made her way to the door, which stood ajar. She did not enter, not wishing to find another surprise, hidden where she had only briefly glanced._  
"_I only learned to read music, from my father. I have the alphabet somewhere in the back of my mind, but he never emphasized it, as he did notes." Christine clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. She had never meant to say that, much less to _him_. 'Why did I just say that? Now he knows how stupid I am.' Biting her tongue, Christine refused to reveal any other weaknesses to the man who had so cruelly tricked and abducted her._

Gazing after Christine for a moment, Erik's gaze fell to the casket, and he stepped away from it with care, before turning and following Christine. "No need to apologise, Christine, it was perfectly all right. If I had known the sight would have unnerved you, I would have instructed you to stay away from that room." As Erik spoke, he slipped past Christine and into the library, sidestepping to allow Christine to enter, his steadfast gaze returning to her immediately as he turned. To avoid embarrassing Christine further, and to uphold propriety, Erik said nothing in response to Christine's comment toward her education, and instead turned away from her. "There is a great number and arrays of categories for you to select from, my dear." Erik enlightened gently, gesturing lithely to the rows of books, as he moved further into the room across the marble flooring. "Finding one, of which you can read, should be quite simple." He murmured gently, before turning back to Christine, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, before he suddenly became animated. Turning, Erik crossed the round room and upon reaching a shelf, began to sidestepped whilst peering at the titles. He paused, and straightening up, placed his fingertips lightly against the mahogany framing. "If you are curious, look from here, Christine. Out of this section, I am afraid the themes may...worry you."

_Blushing Christine murmured a thanks, and with her eyes only on the section indicated, she studied the spines of various tomes. Selecting a heavy one, which she promised to puzzle her self over later, she hugged it close to her chest.  
"What...do you do all day, Monsieur? I could hardly expect you to simply pace the halls..." When she was nervous, Christine became overly chatty, and shrinking a bit, the girl cursed her stupidity. 'He was kind enough to overlook my lack of education, you can overlook his...his what? His insane tendencies?'  
"Excuse me Monsieur, it is none of my business..." Hastily retreating from the array of volumes, Christine nervously brushed out her unfashionable skirt, her other hand securely holding the book._  
Raoul De Chagny fondly brushed a strand of hair from Christine's face. He had to leave in a few weeks for his expedition to the arctic, but that would not change the treatment his dear friend would receive. At first he had been angry that she refused him admittance to her dressing room, though his ego was soothed by the thought that she was already unconscious when he had come to see her. Every noon, he would sit by the bedside of the catatonic girl, and read her stories, and reviews of her performance. Or he would remiss, as she lay asleep. A week had passed since she was discovered, and he was anxious that she awake, so perhaps, she would come with him to the arctic.

_"I compose, build, design, and," Erik paused, to wave a listless hand toward the shelves, "read, as you see. I have much to keep me busy, Christine, you would be surprised. I alone, have built the very structure in which you stand, as well as what shines four cellars above it." He explained candidly, without caring to knowledge Christine's apology. As he spoke, Erik appeared almost proud, as he reflected on his accomplishments, though, his shoulders flagged, and the pride seemed to visibly drain from his manner. "But after so many years, their appeal has begun to tarnish and I find myself quite jaded." Erik added, gaze falling for a moment, before he looked up to Christine attentively. His behaviour changed completely then, and the sadness that shone so clearly in his manner, was clear again. "Come, let us take to your lessons now, Christine, for that is why you are here. Five days, Christine; Five days and you may leave Erik forever." And with this said, with such a weigh of sorrow, that his own words made him nearly cringe, Erik started past Christine.  
Five days had begun to pass, to Erik, extremely quickly. With each, he would harshly resolve to extend Christine's time, though only to see her, and falter completely. With each hour, it seemed he loved her more, and Erik found when he was alone, he only thought of her and cursed time viciously. When his anxiety to see her seemed unbearable, Erik would hurry to locate Christine. Usually, he would find the young woman busy, and so he would merely inquire on if she was in need of anything; the response was always a civil no, and so Erik would reluctantly leave her. Most of their time together was spent in Erik teaching, and periodically he would attempt to turn conversation elsewhere, only to have Christine dodge his efforts. Only once, nearing the end of the fourth day, when the hopelessness had his head aching with the dreadful thought desolation, did he dare to venture into the sitting room, and remain, when Christine was present. He approached her, with cautious steps; afraid she would flee, as she usually did, to her room. When Christine did not stir, and her eyes did not leave the text of the novel she held in her hands, Erik stepped closer and sunk to the floor beside the settee in which she was seated. Inclining his head, Erik gazed up at Christine adoring, his distress fleeing momentarily. "Good evening, Christine." He bid softly when he risked speaking, and he suddenly wished he had not. With a mournful sigh, Erik hung his head, and feeling childish in his search for Christine's attention, leaned against the frame of the settee lightly._

_Christine had counted the days down, at first with excruciating eagerness, then with a much more calm approach. Novels seemed to grow easier to read, and so, when she was not having her lessons, Christine found herself absorbed in one. She had once dared venture past the place Erik had mentioned would suit her tastes, only to find books on such gruesome subjects, that she grabbed the first book she found, and quitted the library. She realized one other thing about Erik, and that was that he was a genius. At first, she was shocked, and did not believe that he could have built such amazing things, though gradually, she found herself accepting his intelligence as a fact. It was in her preoccupied state, that Erik had found her. Christine knew when he entered the room, for it always seemed to grow colder. Since her first day, Erik had not touched even the slightest hair on the back of her head, and Christine felt secure that he would not harm her, unless she invoked his anger somehow. With his mask securely in place, it was easy for Christine to forget what had lain beneath it, though she would wake up in the middle of the night, and for a long time, lie awake, sure that his blazing eyes were glaring at her in the darkened room. Pulled from her entrenchment in the tome, the girl looked about for a second, before realizing he was on the floor in front of her._  
"_Is it evening Monsieur? I can never tell..." Christine trailed off distractedly, finding nothing to hint at the time on the walls. Focusing her gaze once more on the masked man, Christine placed a finger in her book, to hold her spot._  
"_All the same, good Evening Monsieur. Is there something I could help you with?" Smiling humourlessly that she would be offering her help, Christine waited, but received no answer. 'Ah- then he has just come to sit by me as I read.' The girl thought, with a small chill. It was decidedly distracting, and in the end, Christine gave up altogether. With an exasperated sigh, the girl dropped her book, and stared at Erik evenly, and repeated her offering of assistance._  
The young doctor murmured to himself, recording on a sheet of paper, Mademoiselle Daae's vital signs.  
"It seems monsieur, that everything is becoming stronger." Recording the girls increased heart rate, and several other things, the doctor wrote a set of instructions for the worried Vicomte.  
"If she starts showing signs of waking up, you should have someone there to assist her. It is probable that she could have forgotten many things, or she may be delusional." Clicking his medical bag shut, the doctor collected his francs and left Raoul alone with the girl.  
"Do not fear, Christine. I'll be here when you wake up..." Raoul murmured, disgusted, and giddy at the same time, for the amount of compassion he was showing to his childhood friend.

_Erik, for a moment, appeared concerned; believing his presence had struck Christine as an irritant. He deciphered quickly, that that was indeed true for obvious reason, and sighed dismally from the indifference in which she showed. In another instant, Erik felt angered abruptly by this, as well as from frustration with his being unable to completely grasp exactly why Christine carried on in this manner. He had, in the end, given her all his attention, in teaching her matters of music, which were absolutely beyond the knowledge of any man beside himself. Erik offered her a most poignant love, which only betrayed him by turning to pierce his heart when Christine had so mercilessly dismissed it. And yet, he still foolishly laid it before her, clearly by his manner, and despite how Erik wished to abandon these sentiments; he simply could not. In one swift movement, Erik was standing, and he gazed down at Christine with burning eyes, queries reeling, disordered in his mind. "Yes, Mademoiselle, perhaps you would be so kind, as to help me to understand something." Erik began placidly, resentment tinting his voice, as he took a small step back from the girl. "What had I done that had been so terrible? I offered you your freedom when you had requested it! My temper however...is in deplorable condition, but you had been the first to test in quite some time! And the method in which you had was quite biting." He paused ominously for a long moment, jaw clenched, before he stepped toward Christine again and his anger dissolved into dejection. "You would not be so repulsed by me, if you still thought me an angel! If you had not removed my mask, you would certainly not be so calm at the thought of leaving Erik." Erik said miserably, and held out his hands toward Christine, sinking subtly, as if he would soon fall at her feet again. Only, Erik started, and instead drew back from Christine and bridled, as if he was troubled by his own words. As his muscles relaxed, Erik gazed through Christine, singular tears slipping from under his mask as his vision idly fixed on her. "I had not meant to frighten you, Christine, you must understand..." He murmured softly, and though he wished to, Erik refrained from moving any closer to Christine. _

_Christine bit her lip, chewing it as she debated against the voices in her head demanding her ignore everything Erik had said. Simply put, she could not. She opened her mouth to speak, several times, before she could find words to aptly fit what she needed to say.  
"Mons...Erik...you of all people must know of betrayal. You, who I so revered as an angel, is only a man." Pity stirred her soul as the man who was contrary to himself, knelt before her, yet never touched the ground. Christine hated the way that he could make her cower in a moment, and then implore her forgiveness the next. She hated the dark world he forced on her, and she hated that he would demand her attention without a word. Laying the book aside completely, forsaking the pretence of marking her page, Christine rose from the chair as proudly as she knew possible, and straightened to her full height. The tears that followed, completely unnerved her. She knew the man would cry, he had before, but then, it had always been accompanied with passion or rage. Now they were self-pitying and full of sorrow. Cursing her apparent inability to remain stoic, the girl timidly pinched the cloth of Erik's fine evening attire, and tugged as a child would.  
"I will return…" She promised, though she knew that once she was free, once she had flown from her midnight cage, and into the sun, she would not wish to.  
"I will return, and I will visit you. Not every night you understand but I will return. I have been here for a week and only God knows what people must think…" With a precise, practised effort, a kindly smile slid into place, masking the doubt, and anger that she would so willingly return to a man who could, without a shadow of a doubt in Christine's mind, kill her in his anger. 'Still...' Christine thought dispassionately. 'It would be worth anything to stop that tone in his voice.' The one that cut her to the quick each time he spoke to her. The hurt resentment, the anger, and the love, which frightened her the most. If he had been, perhaps, beautiful, or merely plain, she might have found it in her flighty heart, to fall madly in love. 'But who would want to be loved by a demon?' Christine asked herself, loathing the small answer that rose. 'No one.'_

_In an instant, Erik's resentment fled from him, towing with it his fear. The concept of Christine returning, was enough to do so. He gazed instead, down at Christine, with a sentiment of admiration, and a stronger love for, Erik figured, in the least, Christine would not completely forsake him. "Thank you, Christine." Erik murmured tenderly, voice nearly shaking with relief. And it was then, that the man could no longer simply suppress his delight, in a prospect that would have been only so little satisfying for others. Erik fell instead, before Christine, this time in worship instead of beseeching, and began to mutter dulcet praises to the young woman who he esteemed and hopelessly loved. The words seemed to die on Erik's tongue, and he was left staring at the fabric of Christine's dress, which appeared crinkled by his grasp. Erik reached forward and brushed down the material with care, before standing and with a fleeting look, stepped away from Christine to cross the threshold of the room. He appeared, for a moment to be in thought, though he turned suddenly, and gazed anxiously at Christine. "May I remain with you, for the duration of the evening?" Erik inquired carefully, and a most cruel thought came to mind. If Christine could not decipher the time, he could certainly lie and give himself more. This idea died however, because it would only pique Christine's feeling of distrust in him._

_Christine let him stay that evening, and the others that followed, until the day she would finally return to the world she knew, arrived. Grimly, with little words exchanged, and only fleeting glimpses of half spoken sentences, Erik returned her the long way. Across the inky black lake, from his house on the shore, and through the many basements of the Garnier Opera house. Christine renewed her vow to return, and with a wary countenance, she fled the moment Erik had disappeared from sight. She could feel the insistent calling of the world of the waking, beckoning her to awake once more. It was with a relieved sort of air that she gave in and as the world faded away, a new one rose to meet her eyes. _


	6. Dead

**Adelson's Caricatures **

_It took all of Erik's self restraint to keep from twisting round and pursuing Christine, during the extent of his downward journey to return to the lonesome domicile that laid beyond the Stygian lake. The confidence that Christine would return offered little comfort, considering that its conviction wavered consistently. It seemed constantly, whenever Erik's consciousness stirred from deep in his own muddled, dreary thoughts, he would remind himself that Christine had promised she would return. And he would assure this, by recalling the compliments he had deferentially showered her with, and knowing them to be true. Time became something completely unbearable, and he was unsure how long it had been since Christine had departed; seconds seemed equivalent to hours. It had came to such a point, that Erik was sure there was some clock in his home, marking off so insufferably slow, that he had taken the time to fanatically hunt for the infernal object. Only, he had found nothing, and gave it up as lunacy for the only alternative was to search the room in which Christine had resided, but he found whenever he stepped toward the door that he would loose all nerve and would merely turn and flee. When the ticking would not cease, Erik willingly threw all his attention into his composing. Music acted as nepenthe, and Erik would forget his pain in the long periods he would spend working without interval. Periodically however, his hand would slow. Only once, Erik's attention faltered, as he caught the sight of indentions on the paper. Slowly, he lifted the paper in his hands and tilted it, in an attempt to comprehend the pressed inscription. It was with a strange sense of sudden dread, he realized his current writing had thus far followed the indentions precisely. Had his thoughts not abruptly shifted that moment to Christine, he would have surely furthered investigated this peculiarity. How long had it been since she had left him? He growled suddenly, scolding himself for his thoughtlessness. Why had he permitted her to leave? Cursing himself loudly for his folly, Erik swiftly slammed the paper down on the console of the organ. _

When Christine had first opened her eyes, she could hardy see, for the light in the room was blinding. Then, second by second, the glaring sun faded to an idyllic waft of sunlight, placidly tracing it's way through the air, past dust motes swirling in its stream. It was in this stupor, staring at the golden motes floating in the air, that Raoul had slid into the room.  
"Christine Daae...'' He murmured, a grin tugging at his lips.  
"Monsieur de Chagny..." Christine replied, as if reaffirming his name. Then, a smile broke out, and after her dark dreams amongst the Opera house cellars, her heart felt less weighed down. They talked idly for the next few days; Raoul would sometimes spend the night in the chair beside her bed, as her body, weakened in its state of atrophy, grew stronger. Then, short walks merged to long walks, and Christine found herself growing more and more attached to the Chagny estates. Her time with Raoul, she would reflect later, was easy going, and his handsome face made her blush. Erik had stared at her openly, demanding her affection, and threatening her refusal. Raoul was subtle in his indications of like. Never once did she feel threatened, or ill used.  
Yet, Christine was drawn to the dark soul, which lurked beneath the Opera house. _'Promise or not, I will not return!' _She would murmur to herself, only to feel immeasurable guilt at leaving him waiting.  
Part of the medication, a kind young doctor had prescribed, gave Christine dreamless sleeps, that no longer left her fearing the night. She would work herself to the point of dropping with exhaustion every day before bed, just to make sure that the pills would take affect.  
Warily, she let a week go by, then two. At the end of the third, her pallor had grown pale once more, and she knew she would have to return. Fabricating a story of visiting her ill 'aunt' Christine went to visit the woman who had practically adopted her.  
The woman was in a state of dementia, forgetting some things, and telling long winded lies about others, but when Christine came to her with the story of her angel of music, the woman happily agreed to have someone tend to her body, lest she take longer then a night to return. Then, dressed in some comfortable, reasonable clothes, Christine shut the door to a fine room, and lay abed many hours until her nerves calmed and she could fall asleep.  
_Heart in her mouth, the young girl looked around, with wide eyes, and found she was once again, in her old, windowless dressing room. Confused, but unwilling to think that perhaps her 'Angel' had been an invention of an epileptic fit, Christine exited her room, and trekked down to the dressing room, which she had received after her premier performance. The mirror, she noticed, was on a track, with jointed wheels, and when she ran her hands along its frame, the corner pushed in to reveal a dark tunnel. Leaving the mirror open, and searching about for a candle, and match, Christine began her descent.  
"Erik." She called loudly, her voice echoing. She did not dare go farther then the third basement, already she was lost. Repeating his name, she wandered aimlessly. 'If he does not show, I will stop coming back.' Christine resolved. She then amended that she would leave some sort of message for him to find if that was the case to be._

_It was with vague attention, that Erik's mind pulled from its focus on the scrawls of the quill, in which he held, at the faint calls of his name from some immeasurable distance. At first Erik only attempted to ignore it, in fear, that his desolation was only twisting whatever good sense he still retained. This however, twisted to anger in a second, and he growled viciously, throwing the quill aimlessly before him. This voice, he took, to be as the ticking of the clock. Though, when he attempted to single out said noise, it seemed to have vanished. And so, could it be, the voice was not of his mind? Christine, had been his immediate thought afterward, and he stood with a quick movement; one that seemed impossible to achieve for a brooding man who had been immobile for so long. Erik fled from the secluded house, to instinctively pole his way across the lake, and near his way to the surface. His eagerness acted as an upper to his senses, and his heart palpated at the elating thought of seeing Christine. And though he ran, ascending cement staircases and careening round corners, Erik's journey created not a noise. It was only at the sight of candlelight, that Erik slowed, and still. He drew closer, and froze some feet away in the darkness, staring at Christine in wonder. "Christine." Erik called dulcetly, voice threatening to waver, as if her name were the title of a saint, passing from the lips of a sinner. For a passing moment, Erik said nothing more, and shied from the light, before umbrage bittered his elation. Carefully, Erik strode toward Christine; gaze fixed on her, as he reached lithely to pinch out the flame of the candle, shrouding them in darkness. "I was beginning to believe you had lied."_

_Christine's eyes widened in surprise, and a natural habit to try to take in more light. However, so far beneath the world were the, that no light was to be found._  
"_I am sorry Erik. It is hard to get away from my life, and Raoul especially-" Cutting off anything that might have followed, the petite girl shrugged invisibly._  
"_That does not matter though. I have come after all, though I do apologize for my tardy appearance." She cast about to find the man who had appeared with a mere breath. She cursed the strange attraction he held, despite his horrifying face. It was perhaps, the fact that no matter what, his voice held the qualities of an angel, and it would plague her constantly. 'Perhaps I am mentally ill…' Christine thought suddenly, as she peered into the inky blackness. It was a complete contrast to the sunshine from where she had awoken. Shoving these thoughts out of her head, Christine inclined her head, even though she was not sure he would see._  
"_Had you any plans for what we would do, ere I returned?"_

_Made invisible by the darkness, Erik flinched subtly, at the unfamiliar name in which Christine had spoken. Curiosity sparked in him, slowly shifting into anxiety, though he suppressed these sentiments, when she treated her words as if they were insignificant. He glared warily for a moment, before turning and stepping soundlessly round Christine, letting silence linger. When he stopped before Christine, Erik reached delicately to grasp her sleeve in a timid manner, before gaining confidence when she did not jerk away, and began to lead her through the darkness. Instead of answering Christine, Erik only warned her of the stairs when they had reached them, though instead of leading Christine hellward, they were ascending upward. When they had departed from the cellars, Erik tightened his hold on Christine, and began to lead her through the maze of hallways, until the route to the roof became familiar. Erik had not looked back to Christine, until he had opened the door to the outside world and released her. While the sky was black, it was speckled with stars that lit the roof dimly and cast the status' grim shadows. For a moment, Erik gazed out into the darkness, before turning to Christine, with a sort of childish enthusiasm. "I had wanted to speak with you, without hiding. Where I had first saw you."_

_Christine was taken back a moment, his words not what she had expected. She had been waiting for more sorrow, and accusations. Obviously she had masked her slip about Raoul well, and was even waiting for a confrontation over that. Instead, she was catapulted back to the first time she had met him. When she had first believed him to be her Angel, sent by her father. When she would have done anything to receive a gentle word of praise from the heavenly host.  
"Then why did you not?" She asked, even as her footsteps carried her across the roof, the glowing statue of Eros. She laid a hand on it for a second, and she could feel it tremble, then solidify. 'This world becomes more complicated every day.' Christine thought with an odd feeling of regret.  
"It would have saved us quite a lot of trouble, if you had not fooled me." Her voice was mild, and a feeling of peace descended on the girl. She was safe out under the stars, on the roof. She could do anything as long as she was away from the oppressing airless underground. Her sure feet brought her to edge of the roof, and she peered over it with little concern. The ground seemed a void far below, and shadows of people on the streets flitted about on their nightly business.  
'It's strange' she mused. 'I could not see the people before...I wonder if that means that this world is closer to my own now.' Then, laughing at her abstract thoughts, Christine turned to the masked man.  
"Who knows what might have happened?"_

_Erik's head inclined subtly, as if in thought, before he turned away from Christine. "Naivety, my dear Christine." Erik murmured, shaking his head almost mournfully, before his attention returned to her. "I, unfortunately, know exactly what 'might have happened'. You see it is a matter of personal experience and physiological consideration." Erik appeared for a moment, as if he would elaborate, but only shook his head again. "Do you believe it would have ended differently? In either case, one of us would have overestimated the other. The risk was doomed to failure from the start." Erik said quietly, voice melodic with pain, and he scorned himself inwardly for his past decision, wishing that he had not confessed. "Mutism." Erik mumbled almost wistfully, before suddenly he stepped diffidently toward Christine. "But I have taught you well, have I not?" He inquired, voice darkening subtly, and he pausing some mere feet away from Christine. "And you had enjoyed my being your Angel, while you thought it honest." Erik straightened up pretentiously before turning from Christine, his arrogant manner visibly dwindling as he moved away from her. "Even if it was only Erik's voice- you had."_

_Christine took a step back from the edge on which she found herself, both physically, and metaphorically. "Y-yes while I believed you were an angel, you taught me well...too well it almost seemed." Crossing her arms across her chest and rubbing her suddenly chilled skin in a pensive manner, Christine found her eyes being drawn once more to the confusing man, as his voice would ride through several emotions at once.  
"It was nice..." Christine hesitated before continuing, "nice to believe that there was something past death. It was a comfort to know my father was still...still watching over as he so often did in the past." Christine allowed her troubled face a brief smile, before it was gone. Her brows drew together in a near audible click as she processed Erik's first words. "You say I am naive, but how could I be anything else? What lies should I have encountered before this? You say you know from experience, so tell me how many women have you taught before?" The occupied girl left the statue of Eros, which was by the edge of the roof, and moved instead, to Persephone. The face of the statue seemed unbearably sad, which was why Christine naturally gravitated to it. 'After all, who wants to live so long, in a world that is not of your choosing'. "How many people have seen your face before? If you know from experience." Deciding the safest place to be was the ground; Christine sat cross-legged, pulling her skirt around her knees, as she leaned against the glimmering statue._

_Erik turned back to Christine; he gazed at her disapprovingly, as if her queries were discourteous. He seemed to decide otherwise, however, and instead drew closer to Christine, stopping at what he thought to be a respectable distance. "There are many lies, it would do you well to learn. Concerning the world," Erik paused, and a sort of scornful laughter passed from his lips, "and your fellow mankind. The Opera house is like a sanctuary, no? It shelters all that reside in it, portraying the glamorous views of life, beauty, and fiction." Stepping away from Christine again, he looked back and gestured toward her listlessly. "It has been your home for years, as well as my own. The difference being, I had lived many years outside this Opera house before I had built it. And Christine, you have not, my dear, and so you are naive." Though the last word carried a certain, negative air, Erik spoke it gently, as so it sounded almost pleasant. When Erik manoeuvred to fully face Christine, in his eyes shone his affection for the young woman. "I had though, taught no other before you. You alone, Christine, characterize the talent of my genius. I have given you so much; my teaching had propelled you from the shadows! None other!" Erik's voice was suddenly fanatical for that moment, as he pressed his fingertips to his sternum, indicating himself. His gaze wavered though, and his hands fell. "And yet, you only echoed the screams that humanity had cried. And you fear me as all had." Erik murmured despondently, before straightening up, his tone becoming soft and doting again, as his attention fixed on Christine. "But you are different, Christine, because if not, you would certainly have not returned to Erik."_

_Christine felt a pang of guilt lanced her as surely as a blade. It had been remorse that had driven her to return to Erik, as if she were culpable for all the sorrow that had shone in his eyes as he rounded on her, with his mask in her hands. For a reason unfathomable to the poor, naive Christine, she could not tear her eyes away from the glowing orbs that lay just behind the brilliant mask. It was not that she had no will, but rather she could not find it right then, and preferred not to besides. It was an unsettling thought, which was enough to help her drop her eyes in embarrassment. It was unsettling to think that she could be trapped forever in the world of her dreams, if Erik would just forbid her to leave. 'He does not seem aware of this though. The world he exists in, is only a distraction.' Over the weeks she had spent with Erik, whenever anything odd or out of place happened, he would ignore it as if it were a part of the scenery. At first, it seemed that he was only ignoring it to make her comfortable, but when things became obvious, he was oblivious. This led Christine to think perhaps, that Erik did not even notice.  
Tired of looking at her feet, Christine directed her gaze to the stars; her curiosity still peaked beneath her facade of guardedness._  
"_What made you want to teach me after singing then, Monsieur? Surely, all your talents to cultivate my talent were completed after that."_

_When Christine had broke eye contact; Erik drew back subtly, examining her manner intently. The loss of her composure was obvious, and he focused for a time, on resisting the urge to rush to her. Erik instead, followed her gaze, finding nothing of interest in the evening sky. "I wished to continue, because my dear, it would benefit you, would it not? One cannot let their student blindly step into the glare of publicity, particularly when they are so exceptional as yourself." Erik paused for a moment, reflecting on his words, and finding them to not be the full truth. Without a second thought, Erik's gaze fell back to Christine avidly. "I was worried that you would find my services useless once you had had a taste of fame!" A sigh passed from Erik's lips before he continued, and he turned away from Christine. "You would have forgotten me, while exploiting all the ability I had taught you. And how terrible you forgetting Erik would have been!" With this said, Erik began to pace, murmuring under his breath as he did so, slowing finally and stilling, his full attention returning to Christine. "Who was that that you had named before?" Erik inquired curiously, and quite arbitrarily._

_Christine flinched as if he had raised his hand. She had not wanted Raoul, sweet, kind Raoul, to get involved in her troubles. "Raoul is my childhood sw- friend. We used to play together, in the house by the sea." She could taste the words left unsaid, and she swallowed them as quickly as she could. "He took care of my bod- me, after I returned from our last encounter. He is a very good man, and still very much a child." Smiling tenderly, Christine raised her eyes from wherever they had drifted to, and involuntarily looked at Eros beside her. Her smile remained fixed in place, until she remembered that her reveries would not be taken as daydreaming by Erik, if she continued on, looking at the Greek God cupid, and talking about her old friend. Risking a quick look to the sky, she cursed to see the stars were as bright as ever, and the wind was picking up. Shivering, the girl started to walk aimlessly about the roof to gather heat. She was not overly fond of being cold, though as a child, she had grown accustomed. "Perhaps...could we head inside? It is far too chilly for me, in such a dress." Gesturing to the plain gown, of lilac and faded blue, and praying that Erik would leave Raoul alone, Christine started to the door herself. Talking to the air, where she thought Erik might be behind her, the soprano dodged many stones and various other remains. "I do not think I would like to sing again at least for a while. Until the whole incident of my illness has blown over..." Mentally kicking herself, Christine hoped that he would assume her illness to mean her disappearance. 'After all, this is the world he lives in. In this world, I walked with him, and not floated.' _

_As Christine spoke, Erik's curiosity flared into apprehensive jealousy; as it seemed that Christine was mooning over this said friend. He kept from speaking firstly, and only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Though Erik failed in the end, from completely stifling a scoff, however he doubted Christine had heard since she had been crossing to the door. Fixing his gaze on her, the same askance look in his eyes, apparent in his manner, as he strode after her. He suspected Christine had titled the man incorrectly, purposefully, this having been reinforced by her hesitant speech. "Had you been ill then, Christine? During the time you had left me?" Erik inquired placidly, though as he continued, the forced composure faltered subtly. "And he had taken care of you? How considerate." He grumbled the last part, and manoeuvred to open the door before Christine. Erik followed Christine down into the darkness of the Opera house, trailing closely on the wooden stairs. For a moment, Erik's manner was fairly meek because of his nearness to Christine, though this dispersed once he spoke again. "You appeared quite keen on your...friend. No torrid fantasies then, I assume? You were not ill, were you? That is why you had not returned earlier! You have found yourself a lover."_

_Christine spun rapidly, stopping her easy gait back down into the opera house.  
"How dare you!" The girl cried resentment evident in her voice. "You know nothing about my life, my friends, or my 'torrid fantasies' as you said." Her eyes narrowed, as she judiciously stabbed a pointed finger in Erik's direction.  
"You of all people should know that nothing could be built on lies. I was unable to move from my bed for a long while after I had left, and Raoul, sweet, kind Raoul was there everyday. Every morning he would bring me breakfast, every noon we would go for a walk, and every evening we would entertain each other. He has been nothing if not honourable, and you dare slight him, and me by saying I would be dishonest about my condition! Shame!" Scandalized, Christine all but sprinted down the stairs, eager to leave the Garnier Opera house, forgetting that she was still in her dream world. Tears of embarrassment stung the corner of her eyes, and a horrid feeling her stomach, that the ghostly man had been right. _

_Christine's umbrage failed to faze Erik, and he only remained completely impassive, as she reproached him. It was only when she turned and fled, that Erik became animated again. A dark, scathing bit of laughter passed from his lips before Erik started forward to purse Christine. "And what a grave condition you must have been in!" He called melodiously, voice echoing down after Christine, dripping with sarcasm. "If you were so bedbound, then how had you taken your afternoon saunters, hm, Christine? Oh- I believe you had a fever, but it was certainly not typhoidal." Hurrying his pace, Erik reached the bottom on the stairs, cast a glance down the hallway to the left, and caught sight of Christine. "Tell me, Christine," Erik started with exacerbated composure, as he leisurely turned, and strode swiftly after Christine, "What does your lover know about you, beside whom you were as a child?" With a small growl, Erik reached forward and snatched Christine's wrist, wrenching her around. The mockery in his manner seemed to have vanished and was replaced by a show of immense acrimony and jealously. "I will tell you what I do know, Christine; that had you not sung that night you would not have been whisked away. You were alone when I had found you; remember he had only after your success- because of your voice. A voice which I created!"_

_Christine struggled, trying to block out the cruel words he flung at her. "He knows that he wants me to go with him when he leaves! He knows that I care for him, and I know this nightmare, with you playing the lead, is going to end soon enough!" Though her dress hampered her, Christine had the strength of youth, and the lean muscles one acquires of years of ballet to aid her. With a rage born of fear, and pain, the girl wrenched her hand from Erik's grasp. "My voice is my own! You may have given it wings so it could ascend to heaven, but despite this, it was never yours to lay claim to!" Then the girl was off again, tearing along the shaky structures of stairs, down to the stage, and through the row of seats. His taunting voice followed her as she ran blindly through the empty opera house. "Leave me to my happy ending Erik!" Christine pleaded, as she took one hallway then another. She had gotten completely turned around when she had fled, and even in a normal sense of being, she would have gotten lost in the large Palais Garnier. When she knew she was lost with no hope of finding where she was, she took a small comfort in thinking that maybe Erik could not find her either. Her wrist hurt from her struggle, and she was sure bruises would ring it in the morning. If morning would come soon. Christine kept her back against the wall as she pressed on, refusing to return to the monster behind. Her footsteps were noiseless as she stepped with deliberate care along the darkened corridor. 'I just want to go back…' she thought, picturing his gentle smile, and slow, collected manner, with no hint of any temper._  
"_Sunrise can not come soon enough..." She murmured, her heart beating painfully loud in her chest._

_Bridling at Christine's words, Erik watched the young woman take off. "I will never leave you, Christine! Never!" He snapped venomously, though he did not hunt her; instead Erik turned sharply and began to pace in the corridor, vicious growls emitting from his throat. "Ungrateful girl!" Erik seethed, snarling out curses to the empty hallways. His nerves seemed to twinge with the desire to locate Christine and continue his verbal assault, only the impalpable, more rational sense of his mind, bid him to remain in fear of involuntarily harming Christine. His steps, as a substitute, grew more rapid, as the anger slowly left him, and instead there was left a malicious jealousy toward the man who had Christine's affections. With a soft cry, composed of both regret and envy, Erik swiftly began to track Christine. It had occurred to Erik, as he ran silently past the barrier before the stalls, that the negative sentiments Christine certainly held for him had to have increased tenfold. His pace then slowed, and alone, somewhere in the warren of bleak hallways, Erik stopped. Through the silence, Erik called for Christine miserably, as a lost child would call for its mother. The emotionally fuelled need to locate her diminished, in the light of the hateful manner in which she would greet him, and Erik's own compunction. And while Erik feared Christine's abandoning him perpetually, he shrank against the wall, and slid to the floor with a dejected sigh, that lingered for a moment in the hallway as a reverberation._

_Christine's gait slowed the deeper she walked into the echoing Opera house. Cursing her absentminded, passionate nature, Christine took a deep breath and turned back. In her mind, she replayed the events on her descent. She kept a side of her pressed to the wall, unwilling to abandon that small comfort. 'It was rather ungrateful to say that to him…he did help me_..._' She scolded herself in her head, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Stopping once or twice to check the night's progress, she was relieved to see the night was fading into early morn. Laden with abhorrent at possibly having to apologize, she did not see the man until she almost trod on him. Pulling back with a gasp, Christine hastily apologized, but then cringed when she realized that whatever she was going to do, she would have to do it. Debating whether telling him that she was never coming back, or that she would visit him one last time, she decided on pity._  
"_Monsieur Erik," She spoke with a calm, purposeful manner, using the more formal name deliberately. "You have no say in my personal life, from this moment on. I appreciate what you have done for me. I will visit you two weeks from now, in which time, I hope you will have your emotions under control over this…matter." She took a deep breath as if to say more, but did not. Instead she stood uncomfortably, between a proud postured stance and a cower. Then she realized one critical thing. 'I need to walk back to my body…' Chewing her lip, feeling embarrassment tinge her face red, Christine spread her hands out helplessly. "Can you please take me back to the entrance?"_

_With a subtle nod, Erik rose leisurely, repressing the words of desperation that nearly choked in his throat. "Come this way." Erik said quietly, in a way that would have been curt, had it not been tinged with sadness. He led Christine silently, not bothering to break the awkward silence that lingered between them. Erik's attention laid elsewhere, in the worry that Christine was lying, and did not have the intention of returning. A harsh idea came to mind concerning only leading Christine astray. Erik glanced back at her, before straightening up, and hurrying his pace. As minutes passed, Erik was nearly at a run, though to keep from loosing Christine, he would pause before rounding a corner, lean back subtly to assure she was not far behind, and start off again. The cruel intent this behaviour began as soon gave way to be to Erik, simply a game. However, this view faded, as he recalled the seriousness of the situation, only because of the qualm that rose again and faltered his steps. Turning briskly to reface Christine, eager for her assurance, he outstretched a hand to grasp her shoulder, keeping the young woman from colliding with him. "Christine, if I should you back," Erik began, reconsidering his previous idea for a short moment. He started instead, elsewhere, eyes softening in despair. "You truly will return, yes?" Erik inquired, tightening his grip on Christine's shoulder absentmindedly, sinking subtly before her._

Biting the inside of her cheek, against the pain of his tight grip, Christine nodded to Erik's words, not sure whether to be frightened, or feel an immeasurable compassion for the man who was so desperate for her company.  
"I will return Erik, if only once more." Christine spoke these words without her own volition, but she could find no other way to comfort the man that stood in front of her. The rest of the way back, Christine was able to keep pace with him, and it was not until she was at the very door of Madame Valerius's house, that she dared to look behind her. The street was empty, bathed in the pre-dawn glow of lamplights. A soft sigh passed between Christine's lips, as she pushed open the unlocked door, and ascended the stairs to her room. Not bothering to look to see if her body was on the bed, or she was the only thing in the room, the girl lay down, and waited for natural sleep to consume her.  
The moment Christine could leave the large house of her adopted aunts, she did. She all but ran to the De Chagny house, in which she was warmly greeted by Raoul. It was that during the next two weeks that he proposed to her. Christine was well aware of Phillip de Chagny's; Raoul's older brother, opinion on singers and dancers. Raoul however, could care less. He made extravagant claims of large houses and sunny gardens, and Christine's heart swelled to be in the presence of such a light hearted man. With nothing to say but 'yes' to Raoul's beautiful engagement band, the melancholy girl wore a smile everyday. Though, as the promised time drew near, Christine became antsy. Finally, a plan formed in Christine's head. 'Perhaps I will visit him in the daytime, fully awake, and see if he is real.' For every time she would wake up from the strange world, she no longer felt strong and well rested, but sapped. The kind doctor informed her that it might have been purely imagination, and the thought nagged in the back of her mind. Feeding Raoul another story about having to say goodbye to the Opera house, and returning to it with the alibi of collecting her things, Christine sojourned to the bustling place with little trouble. Of course, Raoul objected, but the wilful girl merely smiled and brushed his concerns off with little effort. When she arrived, she was greeted with the absentminded air of a stranger on the street, and non one stopped to look twice at the pale, unremarkable girl as she threaded her way through the crowds. Retracing her steps from her dressing room to Erik's house was more worrisome. Opening the mirror had been easier in her dreams, for it had already been opened. The one that was existent in the real world required much sweat, and cursing to swing it open. When it had, she followed nothing but her own memory, which had only recorded her every step, in fear that she may not have taken one again. The trip past the furnaces where terrifying, for men now worked them, as the satanic jaws gaped open in silent mockery. After many fumbled attempts at finding the boat by the lake, Christine poled herself clumsily across, evading the traps that Erik had warned her about. Arms aching, the girl pulled the boat to shore and stepped to the front door. There were no disconcerting alterations about the fabric of reality in which she found herself, and relieved she was still awake, the girl pushed the door open. Inside, she was shocked to see it covered in dust, and many of the beautiful antiques were falling apart. The organ Erik so loved playing, was in disrepair, and laying open, across it, was leather bound manuscript. The finished notes lay written in childish handwriting, and were somewhat distorted by mould spots. Leaving this disturbing evidence behind, she went to her own room. It was empty of the amenities that she had been given during her stay, and the library was just as dusty as the entrance. "That leaves one more door." A horrid smell emitted from the room that Erik had laid claim to, and pushing the door open, the poor girl almost gagged from the odour. Still, pressing on, she advanced on the casket, and to her horror, she saw what Erik had become. A thoroughly decomposed skeleton grinned back at her horror, and with the same cry tearing from her throat, as first had when she saw Erik unmasked. The skeleton in the coffin had a mask as well, but it had slid off to lie in the concave area of the ribs, somewhere along the line.

_The days that followed were fraught with a mixture of worry and anticipation for the masked man, who with his time, spent dashing around his residence. The issue had become, that Erik would stand and leave his work with something in mind, only to find himself standing elsewhere, with no recollection of how he had become there, or even why. The lost man had begun to believe he had fallen into dementia. There was little else to explain the foxing that would manipulate the paper on which he wrote for short instances, only to disappear the moment he started. These occurrences had not dragged however, his mind from Christine; instead, they only served to strengthen them. Indeed, it seemed he thought about her more, and mooned over her continuously. Erik had once given thought, that perhaps his delirium had rose because of this fixation. When the days had slipped into a week, he had forgotten his worries over mental dissociation, and would only placidly move himself away from the door in which he continuous found himself, and travel back to the organ. It became, to Erik, simply another oddity in his life, which seemed of little importance.  
It was only when the second week was coming to an end, and the expectation of seeing Christine was at a peak, did he pause before that door, when the sound of a scream pierced the air. Though it certainly came from the room, Erik was surprise to hear how faint it was, and he drew back from the door, gazing at it warily. With careful steps, he leaned close and stepping forward, passed through the door as if it was not only ajar. Immediately, Erik brightened in delight at seeing Christine, this foreign air only utterly faltered, when he noticed what the inquisitive girl was doing. "Christine, my dear, you had-" Erik began, only when he strode closer, words failed on his tongue, and as if his vision was obscured; there was a corpse in the coffin. Instead of bridling, Erik's head only tilted in confusion, and he looked toward Christine, who seemed not to be aware of his presence. "What is this?" He inquired, almost sharply, as if she had been the one to die so impolitely in his casket. "Christine?" Erik tried again, when she did not respond, he reached to touch her shoulder. However, Christine felt less tangible, and Erik leapt back, a cry of his own passing from his lips, when his gaze fell back to the corpse; the unfortunate man had irrevocably recognized it as himself._

The door behind Christine was open, and taking the advantage of such an escape, she ran as fast as she could to her own room, to empty the contents of her stomach in the bathroom. There was only so much a proper lady could take, and Christine had long excelled the field of proper. Instead of making perfect sense, things were growing continuously more complicated.  
"Erik is dead…" She whispered hoarsely, her throat burning from the resulted dry heave. Shakily, she pushed herself up, and dried her sweaty and unknowingly tear-streaked face. "Is that why I only saw him when I slept? Because he was dead?" Moaning, Christine forced herself back into the room to make sure it was indeed Erik. The mask gleamed a ghostly white against the red silk that lined the casket. The skeleton itself had not moved, though when Christine turned her head away in an unidentifiable emotion, she swore she could see Erik, alive, and whole standing near the doorway. Breathing in, and finding nothing to say, Christine sang mass for the man who had taught her to sing, even if only in her dreams.  
"Domine, Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae,  
libera animas omniurn fidelium defunctorum  
de poenis inferni, et de prof undo lacu:  
libera cas de ore leonis,  
ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum..." She sang for what seemed hours, and when she was done, she turned her back on the empty carcass and poled herself back across the lake. She had arranged to sleep in her room before she left the Opera house forever, and the managers were kind enough to allow her that comfort. Christine took a bath to rid her body of the smell of death, and her mind of the man. She feared to sleep, and so, for the first half of the night she did not. It was as before, her lying on the couch, turned towards her mirror, though she did not await an angel this time, but feared something far worse.


	7. Dementia

**Adelson's Caricatures**

_In shock, Erik had not noticed the vague blur, that was Christine, dart past him. His eyes were fixed on the gruesome sight before him, which was himself. Denial first assaulted him, and so Erik pressed his hands to his chest, and to his relief, felt solid. He considered that perhaps he was only dreaming; that would explain the situation rather well. With a glare, he strode forward, and trod round the casket, sneering at the corpse. How could he possibly be dead? Erik did not remember passing in the least. He froze then and reached hesitantly to touch the casket. The mahogany contacted no nerve, and at the peculiarity, Erik swiftly withdrew. "A dream, a dream!" Erik repeated, shaking his head disbelieving. With an abrupt, scornful laugh, he waved the corpse off, and strode forward, only his denial was interrupted by the sound of Christine's voice. For a moment, he could not decipher her position, though as his wavering gaze steadied, so it seemed her being had. For some time, Erik listened to her delicate voice in blank astonishment. "No...Christine." He spoke quietly, and moved cautiously toward her. "Stop." Erik demanded gently, repeating his instruction several times, before anger struck him. "Why do you sing this elegy? Erik is not dead!" He shouted furiously, though his words seemed to go unheeded, as Christine only began to depart. "Christine!" Erik cried, stalking after her, only when he had passed from the doorway, he was alone again. He snarled, and frantically sought for Christine, at first, within the confines of his home, and then along the edge of the lake, in a sort of frenzy that came with his bewilderment. When Erik had found no sign of Christine, who had seemed to vanish before him, Erik fled back inside, and leaned against the closed door, gazing fixedly ahead. The idea that perhaps, it all was a dream, returned to him, and with another burst of panic, Erik returned to the room, throwing open the door, and snarling in incredulity to find it as it had been before. He pointed sharply to the casket, in which laid the corpse which held his identity and glowered. "Dead ringer!" Erik cried, and slammed the door shut. Turning, the hysterical man fled, and passed time by madly boarding the door. It seemed that when the door was completely boarded over, in with the corpse laid his trepidation. Stepping back, the tools that had been used strangely missing, Erik stared suspiciously at the door, as if afraid it would only reopen. When it had not, he quickly scuttled from the hallway, and took refuse in the sitting room. As Erik began to pace, a sardonic chuckle passed from his lips, at the idea of death, which was so enticing and yet somehow frightening him now. Death, he believed, would be a welcomed relief, to claim him when it desired, and alleviate his ache. Though, how could he possibly be dead, if he still felt no liberation whatsoever? Erik considered, for a moment, that it could possibly be true, for it would explain the strange happenings just as well as him being in a dream would have. For reasons stated above, replaying in his mind, small sobs were stifled in his throat. Refusing to believe that death had been so cruel as to have him live about the world of the living, as some sort of entity, Erik quickly exited his home, to ascend above in search of Christine. He moved, in a way that a stunned individual would, gait hurried, but manner unemotional and listless. It would seem, to anyone who could vision him, that Erik was walking on a set path, which lead him to Christine. And he followed this path with no thought, as if he knew his mind would guide his way successfully; it has done so. Erik passed through the mirror without a sound, without the mechanics being triggered, and fell before Christine's sleeping figure in the darkness of the room, gazing at her expectantly, as if shell-shocked._

_At first, Christine had only been aware of a great empty silence in her old room. Then slowly, a chill wind picked up, and a presence; his presence, near her. Stifling the urge to run in fear, Christine sat up, her body still lying solidly on the lounge._  
"_How long have you known you were dead, and did not tell me?" Christine murmured, her voice pleading as if she did not truly want him dead. As if leaving Paris with him alive would have been less painful. It was only at this thought that she dared to look at the man before her._  
"_That is twice now, that you have lied to me. The first you were an Angel, the second, that you were a man. What are you now? What am I, that I can see you?" Trembling, she gently placed her hand on the man's shoulder to see if it would pass through, but it felt entirely solid, and this was more shocking then what the former would have been. Then, the words were out of her mouth before she could regret thinking them._  
"_I'm leaving Paris in two days time with Raoul." The frightened girl informed Erik._

_As if stricken, Erik leapt to his feet, at first, because of the news of Christine's departure, secondly, because the girl had not aided in alleviating his disorientation. The shake up had words blocked in his throat, and for a moment Erik could not speak. After a short period of silence, they seemed to pass from his lips on their own accord. "No, no! Christine! I am not dead!" He explained in astonishment, with a small laugh, as if the idea was merely ridiculous. "How can I be, if you can touch me? This is absurd! You sang for me, a dirge! But look, you were mistaken I am alive!" His words quieted, and Erik paused, eyes widening. "But then...that carcass, you had seen. And so it was no dream...but that could not have been me!" Erik cried, prior to falling before Christine again, and clutching the fabric of her gown. "I have not lied to you again!" He assured before releasing her dress, and holding out his hands beseechingly toward Christine. "Or if I had- if I had then I had not been aware! You must believe me, Christine!" Despite the inner turmoil assaulting him, Erik apologized profusely for a moment, before straightening up in his kneeling position, and casting a glance around the room. "I don't really understand. I believe I am seeing things, Christine. I think I'm rewriting everything. And I heard this clock, you see?" Erik's voice had fallen in an unsettled sort of placidity, and completely unaware of how muddled his speech had become, he leaned forward, resting his head against the young woman's knees, in a desperate search for comfort. "I feel ill...why are you leaving Paris?"_

_Christine allowed the man his peace, though she did not wish to reveal to him her reasons.  
"Raoul will be going on an expedition to the arctic, and he wants me to join him. It's not very well looked upon for a man's wife to accompany him on his journeys, but Raoul has connections that will take care of that..." Pausing, Christine flung her mind back to try to comprehend what Erik had said.  
"There was a clock, I had not heard it before, when I slept, but when I saw your...you, there was one. And if you mean that manuscript by your organ, it is finished, so I do not understand you rewriting it..." The poor man's confusion unsettled her, and she did what seemed most natural at the time, by leaning forward and embracing him, as if he had been an old friend. Then, pulling him to sit beside her, she began to explain what she knew of, if nothing else.  
"When I first came to the Opera Garnier, I would sleep at night, but dream of this place. Only, there would be no people, and I could change anything at will. My hair colour was one of the many things...then you came, and things stopped obeying me. I had no control over objects, only myself. I would wake up, and if I stayed asleep too long, the world in which I belonged, would continue without me..." Feeling suddenly very lonely, Christine clenched her fists, then continued.  
"When you took me to your house by the lake, for that week, my body was left in sleep, while my mind and spirit were here. That is why I was ill, because I spent so long asleep, that I did not truly get what I needed in terms of food and water, beyond what the doctor would- ah perhaps we shall skip that. Raoul took me in when the Opera house would have thrown me to an asylum, and he financed my illness, as it were." Sighing, Christine opened her hands from their tight fists, and spread them helplessly.  
"I can not explain why I came to this world in my dreams, and I do not know how you exist in them. I'm sorry for that, and I'm truly sorry that I will not be here to help you solve this riddle..." Gesturing back to what looked like a translucent form of Christine, she smiled sadly. 'If he had been an Angel, perhaps...perhaps...'_

_Gazing down into his lap, Erik listened intently to Christine's explanation, mind reeling to place the situation, which still made so little sense to him. The whole idea sounded completely metaphysical, only it seemed to piece together frighteningly well; Erik almost wished he had merely been hallucinating. Christine's brief embrace offered none of the comfort it would, with his mind swimming in his misgivings. Sceptical and the concept so abstract, he immediately placed his mind elsewhere, considering that perhaps if he ignored the disconcerting aspect, it would simply deteriorate. Because of this, Erik started promptly, abruptly feeling nauseous with fear that washed over his distress, as he recalled Christine's first words. Slowly, Erik rose from beside Christine, peering at her warily, as he took a small step away. "Wife?" He inquired with forced coolness, as if Christine might had said the word unintentionally. Though, one knows women do not fail to differentiate such titles. "His wife? You're marrying him?" The composure in Erik's voice faltered completely, and he snarled his words viciously instead. A cruel laugh emitted from his throat, which was tinted with hysteria, and an anger both fuelled by anguish and his complete loss of nerve. "How thankless you are! But that is fine, Christine. I do not need recognition." Reached forward, Erik took Christine's arm firmly and wretched her forward. "If I am dead, then I may do what I please, in my world." He gestured about the room listlessly, standing before Christine and her real world self. "I then can...have anything I want." Erik murmured, and behind him stood instead, a stone wall, which narrowed the room, and made the only exit possible, the cheval mirror. "And what I want, Christine, more then anything else, is you." Stated so simply, with a wistful air, that was both mad and grim, Erik pulled her, leading her through the mirror forcefully. "You will marry no one but Erik!"_

_Christine struggled against the pitiless grip that encircled her wrist. Shouts of unrecognisable curses resounded throughout the dark hallway behind the trick mirror. More then once, Christine thought she could free herself, and return to her body, before she was cruelly wrenched back._  
"_No!" She shrieked. "I do not want to marry you! Let me go!" Her voice was near hysterical as she did all she could to fight her abductor._  
"_I will never marry a monster. Let me go!" The old fear that she had forced away returned the deeper into the Opera Garnier they descended._  
"_If you take me, I will die, and then I will never be with you! You can rot in your coffin with your damned music all you want, but I will not stay! Just try to keep me alive. As long as no one knows about my body, and as long as I do not eat food myself, my body will die!" Panic-stricken laughter consumed her voice, as her mind fully processed the fact that she was being abducted by a ghost, to be his wife, while she slept. Then, the negative repercussions set in._  
"_Mon Dieu, help me, someone please!" She cried. Then, her mind could not process anything anymore, and her spirit self fell into blackness. Her last thought was a simple prayer to any angel that might hear._

_A small gasp passed from Erik's lips, as he felt Christine suddenly wilt. Turning briskly, he hastily collected her in his arms to keep her from falling to the floor. A sob caught in his throat, before Erik's manner returned to one of anger, and snarling faintly, he situated Christine's body in his arms. Glowering aimlessly, he strode forward through the darkness of the passageway, which slowly seemed to dissolve and manipulate into the walls of his own ethereal residence. Moving in an automatic manner, Erik turned sharply to deliver Christine to her room, laying her delicately on the bed. Withdrawing leisurely from Christine, Erik heaved a heavy, miserable sigh. Straightening up, Erik pressed a hand to the forehead of his mask, as if this would alleviate his headache. Closing his eyes for a moment, Erik soon started promptly, and rushed back to Christine's bedside. He took up her hand gently, and scoffing subtly, removed the expensive ring from her finger. Carefully lying down Christine' s arm, Erik glared at the ring in his hand, before glancing down at Christine despondently. Tearing his gaze from the young woman, Erik strode from her room, leaving the door ajar. He fiddled with the ring for a second, before snarling and throwing it aside. It chinked long the ground and laid somewhere entirely unimportant. If the symbolic ring was real or not, Erik did not care. If he were indeed dead, in the afterlife in which he controlled, Christine would display only a ring he had given her. Instead of walking to his usual spot at the organ, Erik sat on the settee in the parlour, and removed his mask hurriedly, placing it aside carelessly as he brought his hands to his malformed face, slumping forward with a groan. Half of his mind was concentration on Christine, while the other was focused on figuring his quandary. As the cast a glance around the room, the world seemed to him as tangible, as it had before he had 'died'. "I cannot be dead." Erik murmured into his hands, with a wretched sigh, at the prospect that death would no longer serve as an escape. "Merciless judiciary, what cruel condemnation is this?" Erik groaned whilst straightening up and passing a hand over his forehead, trying to ease his headache, which seemed all too real._

_The downside to faint while being in a non-physical form is that one is already asleep, and hence, cannot drift away from their mind. As Christine awoke with a rush of all-too-real horror, she noted this unfortunate characteristic. Pressing a hand to her forehead and leveraging herself to be sitting straight up, Christine felt that if she had eaten recently, she might have been sick. Fortunately, she could only manage the feeling of complete and utter disgust. It was when she brought her hand away; that she noticed her beautiful golden band was gone. With a cry, she scrambled, and searched her room desperately for the one thing that kept her tied to the dream of freedom._  
"_What did you do with it? Erik!" Christine screeched from the room. The rage, and instant knowledge that he had taken it, coursed through her veins, drowning her fears in the roar. Careening out of the room, she stared at Erik, full of hate. "Where did you put my ring Erik, I will not ask you again!"_

_In a placid manner, Erik glanced over at Christine, before the corner of his lips twitched in a smirk. "You are only wasting your time. I will not tell you; what need do you have of it?" He inquired, raising from the settee, with no mind of his being unmasked. "It is merely a figment of the true piece, in any case, is it not?" Erik peered at her calmly for a moment, before suddenly moving forward, brushing past Christine swiftly. Unseen to Christine, he stepped on the ring, and twisted around to face her. "You won't be leaving, my dear." Erik began pleasantly, holding out his hands listlessly and shaking his head. "But! You are quite welcome to search! Anywhere you would like, search, my darling Christine, but you will never find it."_

_Christine clenched her fists tightly in her skirt. "Perhaps I should look where your corpse lies? That rooms seems to be full of revelations..." With her lips pressed tightly, she glared at the man in front of her.  
"I will never be the wife of a corpse, and I will never let you control me." She hissed, before stalking off to the room that held Erik's deathbed. Boards and nails did not hamper it, as Erik had tried, and instead, it swung open easily. Now that she looked, she could see the ruminants of the masked man, and the longer she looked; the more she hated herself for returning. For not running, and instead of doing as her common sense insisted, told Erik of her marriage plans. 'What if I told him that I was already married...or that the marriage was already consummated? Would he throw me away then?' The thought brought with it, the horrid realization of what would happen if he did. 'I might never return to my body...' _

_The equanimity that Erik had collected wavered subtly at Christine's parting words, which seemed more cutting, then literal. Taking this time to step off and take up the ring, Erik pocketed the item with a faint sigh. Erik considered not following Christine, feeling self-conscious for the moment, and weary, as if he could not face Christine's rage again. Lifelessly, Erik strode forward to track Christine, though upon coming to the door of the room, which she had entered, Erik started. The door, which he had boarded, was no longer so. At this sight, a small huff of laughter passed from his lips, though he choice to ignore the phenomenon brushing a hand over the stile and step inside. Erik's gaze at first, fell mechanically on Christine before his head inclined subtly, to look at the corpse. Suddenly, a snarl emitted from his throat, and Erik trod forward to the casket, closing it with a loud bang. Turning sharply to face Christine, Erik glowered ominously at the young woman. "I am not dead!" He cried furiously, before pointing back to the door, tone abruptly calming. "Get out of this room, Christine."_

_Christine stood her ground; her once malleable will, now tempered and hardened. 'I will not be sent from a room like a naughty child!' She thought with a growing resentment. "No." Christine said simply, though those words threw the rest of her in turmoil._  
"_You are dead, and I am living, and I hate you more than anything." Her heart pounded furiously, as the girl stood her ground, glaring down the unmasked man. He had, as an Angel, enchanted her, and as a man, evoked emotion in her, but as the monster she saw now, he could only made her feel as if she had been taken for a fool, and he had been the driver. 'Which he had.' She growled. The blood fled from her pale face as she, in direct defiance, wrenched open the lid to the coffin once more.  
"Ah- look, a handsome gentleman lies here! Perhaps monsieur, you know each other!" Laughing with a tinge of insanity, Christine's finger judiciously pointed at Erik.  
"Last time I visited this man, he let me leave. Maybe, monsieur, a lesson should be learned?" Christine's laughter died away, and the one comfort she had left to name was Raoul. The memory of his kiss, and the life she could have led._

_The ire that flared in Erik's eyes, was the only clear display of his suppressed rage. He stifled the strong urge to lash out at Christine, disliking the sentiment, which caused this harsh desire. "You may hate me, as you will. But there is no lesson to be learned, beside the difficulty you have of holding your tongue, Mademoiselle. Dead or not, I retain your fate in my hands; to do with it as I see fit." Erik's eyes narrowed threateningly, and he turned his back on Christine and the casket, to cross the threshold of the room. "I wonder, Christine, after your body wastes away, and you as well, are dead; would I still be able to hold you here? It seems quite probable." Stepping out of the room, Erik turned to face Christine, and though his manner was completely nonchalant, dejection was drawn on his misshapen countenance. "Since you seem so content in the presence of the lifeless corpse, rather than the one that so loves you; perhaps you would like to remain?" Erik inquired flatly; reaching to hold the doorknob lightly as he slowly began to shut the door._

_Christine's eyes widened in what would probably have been the longest second of her life. Thoughts raced by in lighting quick succession. 'He would not leave me here', and 'Alone with a dead man either way!' dominated such reflections. For a moment she was mute, then the words were unglued from her mouth, and she could hear herself pleading. "No Erik, please!" Her small form held her arm out, in a silent gesture of appeal. In the end, the fear of being trapped in a room with a literally dead corpse, was more disgusting then her other option. In the end, she did not wish to be in a room of life and death. Thinking about everything that she was missing...'No! I have to get back. Some how, I must! Before…well, before two days pass...before the day itself!' Biting her lip grimly, Christine dropped her hands and eyes, and in a cowed gesture, allowed her shoulder to slump._  
"_I…I'll be good…" Hating that she felt like a mere child, barely into teen-hood, instead of the woman she was, Christine forced down the bitterness that ensured forth. She would play his game, but with her own rules._


	8. Restraints

_At Christine's voicing of defeat, Erik straightened up, pleased with her capitulation. The door had slipped shut, at only the last second, and so his perverse delight could not be seen. "Very well, Christine." Erik replied simply, and turned to pass through the closed door without a second thought. "I really did not wish to jail you in this room, and so I am glad you had not made me do so." He said, speaking affably, as if what had passed between them, was nothing more than trivial whinges. "Let us leave." Erik added hastily, taking Christine's hand lightly, and hurriedly leading Christine through the door, which allowed this particularity, as if it were nothing more than a hologram. As he guided Christine down the hall, the rage and despotic-likeness that ruled his manner completely vanished. Erik released Christine when they had reached the sitting room and rounded on her abruptly, sinking subtly. "Christine, you would not be so unhappy here!" He assured fervently, and giving the young woman a fleeting, adoring look, Erik turned lithely, and carefully stepped away from her. He frowned, and misery consumed his misshapen face for a moment, as a heavy sigh passed from his lips. "If indeed, Erik is dead, and this is my wretched hereafter," his attention, shifted back to Christine, and he forced down the despair, which held so heavy on his heart, Erik felt he would retch, "then, I most certainly can influence it." Erik then, held out his hand toward Christine, and in it he held a single cut of red freesias. "You see..." He said, with forced lightless, that faltered as his gaze fell from Christine, "like...magic." Erik added in a murmur, voice soft and crestfallen. With a slight tilt of his hand, the flower poured from his hand, to the ground, as ashes._

_Briefly glancing down at the ashes, and feeling a renewed surge of pity for the monster trapped in death. Then, her resolution to escape returned with an overpowering wave. Smiling heroically, she took Erik's empty hands, and patted them kindly._  
"_Do not worry, we have forever to get the idea of this, non?" Her tone was cloying, but she hoped that he had little female interaction, with experience to give away her plotting._  
"_We could, do real magic tricks instead? Or we could sing, if you would prefer...after all, we have more then enough time?" A forced light-hearted laugh brushed past her deceitful lips. _

_Rising his despondent eyes to Christine, Erik's expression appeared torn between confusion and relief. His gaze wavered, and fell to their hands, and stepping back, Erik cagily withdrew from Christine. Erik looked pensive, as he nodded subtly. "Yes...we have forever." He murmured, straightening up and glancing over at Christine. Erik appeared, for a moment, unswayed and sceptical. While logic shouted at him to point out Christine's particularity, Erik instead ignored it pleasantly. "We will do whatever you would like, Christine!" Erik announced, the sadness waning from his manner. "You are unhappy, I know- but know Erik will do whatever you wish, to please you."_

_Christine almost yelled out loud that he return her then, and there, but she knew that she could not take such a risk. "Perhaps...We could go for a boat ride, as if we were in a sunny park!" She could almost taste the man's desperate need for the world he was no longer part of, and so, she decided to play the most laughable of cards and hoped it would work out in her favour.  
"Yes, let's! But...I shall need to change first. Wait here." Dashing to her own room, she put on the lightest of old dresses, and mentally prepared herself for the uncomfortable silences to follow. _

_Turning to face Christine's retreating figure, Erik gazed after her sceptically until she had disappeared from view. He thought perhaps Christine maybe planning some escape, though he disposed of this fear, remembering reluctantly that Christine could not do so, unless he permitted it. And him permitting it was completely doubtful, and he admitted with increasing remorse, selfish. Suppressing this guilt, and burying it somewhere in the back of his mind, Erik took to placing his sentiments aside, and impatiently wait for Christine. When she emerged from her room, Erik forgot his concerns and rushed toward her, taking her arm gently, in a most diffident manner. He led Christine wordlessly out into the musky darkness of the cellar, to the edge of the lake. Erik cautioned Christine to be careful, as he assisted her into the gondola before situating himself. With a fleeting look back to shore, Erik began to pole the boat through the aphotic water. In the silence that followed, excluding dull echo of lapping water, Erik's steadfast gaze had not left Christine. Finally, Erik stilled the boat in the water; despite how careful his movements, they seemed abrupt because of the long period of motionlessness. Lifting the pole from the lake, Erik placed it carefully against the side of the gondola and after a brief pause, held his out for Christine, and instructed her softly to stand. The boat beneath their feet, moulded into the shadows, and instead of water, they stood upon a narrow paved path. Gesturing to the right, Erik tore his gaze from Christine. Clouds, it seemed, had developed through the darkness, and light shone softly from the crescent moon that hung in the sky. The branches of bear trees cut into the scene, a forest of twisted, dry trunks before them. "You see, Christine, I deciphered that it is much like how one would...paint a picture. It is all visualization." He paused, his gaze returning to Christine. "But most certainly, these are not your colours." Erik said pleasantly, and gently turning Christine around, on the opposite side of the path, it seemed a lighter painting was being created. The trees were fresh, leaves lurid and the colours of autumn all under a clear sky. Wind sent the freshly fallen leaves whirling from their rest, around their feet, before crossing into the darkness, withering and matching the grim scene to the right. _

_Christine smiled solemnly. "It is very beautiful Erik. You are quite talented." Leaving Erik's hand, she ventured towards the painting, but found she could not quite step from the path. Biting back the frustration that marred her calm mood, by having been restrained by person's mere wishes. 'He must not want me to stray too far away.' She thought logically, even while she forced her will against his, and found she could take the first step from the path. She did not run however, but instead, Christine took in the beautiful fall scene before her. It was truly like a painting, for if she looked closely, she was able to see the delicate brush strokes that the wind had left behind. Taking another painful step, Christine was able to admire the marigolds that were fading, alongside the sun stroked oak. Many trees rioted, displaying their flaming wares without a purpose, beyond showing off their own magnificence. Her own hands danced lightly over the welcoming autumn flowers, and she could not bear to think that Erik had created it for her._  
"_Will you show me the rest of the forest; I would love to see it…the one you created anyways..." Then a thought came to her. Perhaps she could escape when he thought her asleep. Surely he would believe she could still sleep, as a force of habit. _

"_Of course, Christine." Erik conceded easily, and stepped after Christine in a more hesitant manner. The scenery seemed still very real to him, and as Erik had unconsciously not yet wholly accepted the world in which he lived, it was awkward to be out in the sunlight, which he had created. He instructed Christine to follow him, and with the leaves crunching underfoot, the noise sounding undeniably real, Erik led Christine deeper into the clement forest. The foliage around them was constantly animated; everything seemed to call for attention, from the willowy curves of falling leaves, to the souring birds, and the brilliantly coloured flowers. Calendulas and bronze and yellow mums led them to an open meadow, that sloped down at a short distance, the view disrupted by a thin boarder of trees. "And this is where it ends, my dear." Erik said quietly, dulcet voice fading with the rustle of the golden grass. Despite these words, he continued; assuring Christine was still following. Moving with ease down the short incline before offering Christine his aid. When he was sure Christine had stabilized herself, Erik glanced over at the water that ran before their feet. The limpid rivulet flowed over the mossy rocks, carrying with it, leaves that spun gently on its waters. Chaffinches fluttered to the branches of the trees surrounding them, their twitters carrying throughout the streambed. Erik's attention was, nonetheless, effortlessly off of the scene, and on Christine. "It is all for you, Christine." He pointed out timidly, before turning away from the woman he adored, and casting a more attentive look at their surrounding. "Ah- with all the time we have, Christine, I can create so many more places for us to visit! And I have travelled, myself once, to many countries- you can see the world, whatever world it is." Turning back to Christine, he desperately felt the desire to please her. "I will place all my dexterity at your disposal, and give you what no other man, dead or alive, can offer you."_

_Christine's will all but shattered as Erik showed her the world he had created. Everything crying furiously for attention. 'I can not do this to him, I can not…' and thus the struggle ensued. She could not face Erik, for she was sure the betrayal she might yet deal him, was written across her face. She would not give away her worry by wringing her hands, and so she busied herself with picking up the painted rocks, and watching when she dropped them, as they fell in liquid form._  
"_What is it that you alone could give me Erik? If you can create all this beautiful scenery, why could you not replicate me?" Christine asked, her tongue sore from holding it in. 'It's not fair that I should stay forever. That I should die, while he could just as easily create another me. One that might love him, as he desires. One that might care for his needs, instead of me. A confused child with my heart given to someone else!' The grievances of her situation plucked at the girl's weak spirit, and left her exhausted. 'Perhaps I'm dying already! Mon Dieu, non! I want to live...' "Oh God I want to live!" She cried, her throat choked in fear. Fear of dying, of staying in a fake world with a man she knew nothing about save he was talented, and hideous. She felt as if her soul was falling from her hands too, and she dreaded seeing it melt away, as if too were a painted thing._

_Eyes softening as Christine cried out, Erik dared to draw nearer to her. "Christine, Christine!" He called hastily, and while he was unsurprised by her sudden exclamation, Erik was set ill at ease by it nonetheless. "I could give you everything and anything! From jewellery and gowns, to the Borromeo Palace and the Mecklenburg lakes, I can make it possible! And love, Christine! I have more of it for you, than anyone else possibly could! Far beyond death, beyond measure!" Despite the anguish in his voice, resentment had begun to rise in Erik, at the idea that Christine could so easily dispose of his ardour. Instead of crying out in anger toward the unfairness, Erik only sighed in a mixture of frustration and dejection. "There are only so many things one can bear to know is illusory. You are not one of them, Christine. Think, only being able to imagine love, in life- despite how unfeasible! And I am so tired of pipe dreams." Shaking his head despairingly, the beautiful scenery surrounding them began to morph and adumbrate. Erik turned away from Christine, past attempting to get her to resign herself to the hopelessness of her situation. "At least, with you, your sentiments are genuine, be them hate...or likewise." Straightening up, Erik glanced back at Christine. "It is not much like death, you know, Christine..." Trailing off, he turned his attention foreword. "With death, you expect liberation from the world, from pain and all apprehension. Ah- but still I feel otherwise, and no longer can I think 'not much more time, soon Erik will be dead!' because...I am, and I have been let down by the only definite respite that I could have ever received." Turning back to Christine, Erik frowned, pausing to stifle the grief that threatened to weaken his voice. "And similarly...you could still feel alive."_

_Christine turned rapidly, as if to strike Erik, but found she had not the energy to do so. "Can you not let me live, and find solace in that I will return once I have died? That I may have lived my full life, without regret?" Her voice grew more powerful as she carried on. "Could you not be happy that I found happiness, whilst all you did in life was find sorrow? For obviously you could have met and made nothing but, if your only relief was in the grips of death! And look where that has brought us now? God, I can not hate you Erik, but I pity you. I pity you and everything and one you have influenced. By keeping me here, you take away the one thing I could ever ask for…" No longer able to continue without gasping for breath, Christine fell to her knees, surrounded by a once-idyllic scene. Her head was bowed to her quivering chest, and her hands hung lifelessly. "It is as you said Erik; there are only so many things one can bear to know is illusory." Her tone was hollow, and dead, as the aching she felt, stung in a renewed vigour. Then, she raised an incredulous hand to her face. 'I feel as if I've been slapped…'_  
The worried Viscount had followed Christine to the Opera house, not trusting her word on being safe. After all, hadn't she said that when she visited her aunt? And she returned looking deprived and cold, Raoul reasoned. He had been right, in that she might have a reoccurrence of the thing that had robbed her of her spirit the first time, and Raoul felt a sort of pride at being able to predict these things. He had arrived to comfort her, the moment she returned, but the girl was nowhere to be found. So, instead, he waited for her to return, and took a short nap in the room adjacent. He had, however awoken to find her asleep, and no amount of persuasion could awaken her. Taking the girl in his arms, he carried her himself, to the doctor, brandishing Christine as if she were a rare and delicate patient. Which she was, he thought. The young doctor from before, examined her again, and with a sigh, shook his head.  
"She is not responding to stimuli…that is a very bad thing Monsieur." Raoul frowned, and stood over the girl. He slapped her cheeks, and alarmed, the doctor rounded on him. "What are you doing?" He cried.  
"Seeing if she responds. You called it stimuli, and so far, you've pinched her, and prodded. I figured that perhaps you should try something else." The doctor bit his tongue, knowing it would be the viscount footing the bill.

_With a soft, unhappy groan, Erik turned back to Christine. "I would be happy; I would wait another lifetime for you, Christine, if you would return to me! But you will not. That is why Erik must keep you! By asking for your autonomy, you want me to willingly hand you over to another man! I won't, how could I?" The passion in Erik's voice seemed to have completely faltered at this point, and through his resolve remained firm, he was weary of fighting with the woman who so desperately wanted to be free of him. The sketches of the landscape had finally faded to a white abbess, that slowly returned to the familiar, grim parlour of his home. "You will live an exultant life, with him," Erik spoke this title venomously, before continuing in a more vacant tone, "and you will forget Erik, in both life and death- and I will be alone eternally, alone." He shifted, almost in an uncomfortable manner, before noting Christine's expression. Erik drew closer to her in concern, but hesitated and instead slunk back further. "And I would miss you, Christine. Bearing to remember that I had dared to even try. What a decision! What a sorry decision for you! I am sorry, Christine. How miserable I have made you." Erik paused, holding out his hands apologetically, and for a moment, he considered hurrying off, though instead, Erik remained, gazing ruefully at the young woman. Despite how he wished he could simply demand her staying, and guard her so; Erik could not find it in himself currently to act so callously toward the woman he loved. "I don't want your pity, Christine. I want you to love me." He explained, painfully aware of just how hopeless the pining was. Erik's hands fell limply, his shoulders flagged, and his gaze, which had once been so filled with ardency for Christine, became consumed with misery and dropped to the floor. "But you won't ever, will you?"_

_Christine shook her head slowly. Not sure how to respond. She might have loved him, had he been a normal man and she a simple girl. There might still have been a chance had he been alive, and she a famous diva, but the question pierced many holes in her bearings and she could not forget the almost ecstatic joy she had felt when she knew her Angel would come to her. Nor could she ignore the emotions under the pity. 'But he wants to steal the very life from me. He wants me to give up everything I love, and everything I could never be a part of, for him to be happy...' The fight in her though, had dissipated, to nothing.  
"Could I at least...say goodbye? He has been my friend since childhood. I think...that saying those simple words might make it easier for both of us..." Her request was honest, and straightforward, and as if to show her complacency, she took Erik's hand in her own. "Please..."_

_As if the innocent request was a confrontation, Erik flinched, and fear leapt alive in his being. "I do not know..." He murmured slowly, as his wary gaze rose to Christine at her touch. Erik's wariness soon faded, and he looked at her dotingly, resigning. With a subtle nod, that was half-done with great reluctance, and more inclined by love, Erik exhaled a breath quivering with apprehension. "All right, Christine. You may say goodbye." Gently, Erik aided Christine in standing. "Christine," Erik started quietly, withdrawing his hand carefully from hers, "you must promise you will return." He insisted, and though it was meant to be a demand, it was weak and hesitant. Erik knew he was chancing allowing Christine to depart, though she seemed so sincere; the chance would be larger if he upset her again. Moreover, Erik did not wish to do so. Still, he felt as if he was allowing Christine to depart forever, and so it was with tentative hands, Erik reached to smooth her mussed hair as timidly as a child would. Stepping away, he gave her an adoring look. "Please return." Erik tried, and while he aimed on sounding more courteous, underneath his words laid threats that urged to surface._

_Christine's heart rose that she might say goodbye, and in doing so, absolve herself from the sin of leaving Raoul to wonder. Though proper manners dictated she leave with a 'thank-you'; Christine wondered what manners would say about her situation, She pressed a kiss to Erik's retreating hands, and in a moment, with his will allowing, she was awake._  
The world never felt so alien before then it did the girl awoke. She could hear her heart beat loudly in her ears, and everything held a solidity she had dismissed what seemed years before. Then, as she adjusted, a hovering presence came into view. "Raoul..." She murmured, her voice sounding metallic.  
"Oh Christine! It happened again! It must be something in that damned place." Smiling at the familiar babbling of her fiancée, she allowed herself to forget for a blessed moment, the dark fate she would share. The ring on her finger shone golden in the early afternoon sun, and it seemed to her, that it was the only warmth in the bed. Her mind disagreed with her that it was there though, for she distinctly recalled it being taken from her by Erik.  
"Ah- I must remember him then..." Christine muttered, closing her eyes wearily. It seemed she would not be granted so much as a minute without him near her.  
"- And the managers thought you had been a part of some illegal Opium trade, but I told them that is _absolutely_ ridiculous, and if that was the way they thought of their performers, I would withdraw my support from them entirely." Raoul finished. Christine opened her eyes, and smiled encouragingly as if she had heard every word he said, when in fact, she was far away.  
"Raoul dear, I haven't much more time left...please understand that I do love you..." Christine could feel the insistent tug of the other world ebbing at her bones, in the way a tide calls to driftwood. "But I want you to move on. I will always be your best friend I hope, but once I am dead, do not linger. Continue your career, and do not be held back by my inconveniences..." Raoul grew alarmed at Christine's words, and he denied everything the girl knew to be true. What would be true, for Erik had denied her nothing but her life, and Christine could deny Raoul nothing but her death. Smiling wryly at her misfortune, Christine requested Raoul help her up, and take her outside.  
'I want to remember everything beautiful about this day...' She thought, her heart sinking at the sight of Raoul's frantic gait.  
The garden, adjacent to the De Chagny residence, was in full bloom. It was more beautiful then the painting world of Erik's, for she could touch it, and know it was real. She spent the next two hours running her hands through the dirt to feel its texture, and chewing on leaves of basil to recall its sharp taste. She left out none of her sense, as she inhaled the dark rich scent of the warm day, nor the cool shade of a friendly willow. Raoul sat by her side, offering her tea and cookies, and she munched them with contentment. 'If only this day would last forever...' Christine wistfully pondered. But the sun was setting, and the beauty of the fiery copper blaze could not waylay her growing sorrow. It was with regret, that Christine turned her back on the now, diamond studded sky, and returned to her bed. Raoul pressed a kiss to her head, as he dimmed her lamp, but Christine had not the heart to return it.  
"I love you Raoul...goodbye..."  
"Good night Dearest Christine." Raoul replied cheerily.  
_Christine had bid adieu her world, and returned to Erik's, her tiny feet making a quiet tapping on the floor as she padded from her room, to Erik's music room. "I am back..." She called softly_

_Erik stared wondering at the spot in which Christine had vanished. It seemed that she had only slumped forward into sleep, before she disappeared. Startled, Erik drew back, as if this had been the only oddity he had noticed. In truth, he had chosen to ignore most, in order to clutch the small chance, that perhaps Christine's accusations were not completely true. But it seemed what little possibility, was shattered. A soft, grieving whimper passed from his lips; Christine, it seemed, since the world in which he lived felt so real to him, was as intangible as the dead women he dreamed to love were. A vicious cry admitted from Erik's throat, at the comparison. But Christine was so alive! When she did not hate him, with she was innocent to his deceit, Christine was not dead! And so now, why did he care to compare? He considered, that perhaps it was only because, he could not longer doubt the strange situation he was in, nor that his body, which had for so long resembled a dead man's, was truly decaying. But before, he had known, though denied it, and he still saw Christine as part of his reality. Sudden rage that seethed from confusion fuelled through his veins, and he rushed into his room. Casting a glance around, he hurried to the organ, and from the console, began to collect and frantically rip the sheet music. Page after page, was torn, and fell to the ground, as full pages, seemingly untouched. Looking down to the floor, when he found his hands were empty, Erik growled in surprise. "You are not real!" He hissed, pointing to the papers, as if they could hear his cutting. Erik kicked at the papers, which began to whirl about his feet, and stack themselves. "I hate you!" He cried, and suddenly, the papers scattered again, and Erik fell to the ground, exhausted. "Erik is not real." He murmured softly, lifting his hand and listlessly waving in in the air. Tracing of his movement seemed to smear before him, and he snickered, before faltering and letting his hand fall. Erik had only started, when he heard Christine's voice, and he remained quiet, until she stepped into the room. "I understand why you don't love me." Erik said arbitrarily, with a small sigh, looking to his dishevelled room. "Not only am I hideous, but I am unreal! I do not know how long I have been dead;" he paused, and laughed a short, quiet laugh, that was tinted with hysteria, "but by the looks of me, quite long! Though it would be hard to tell, wouldn't it?" Erik paused then, and raised his gaze to Christine. "Did you enjoy yourself?"_

_Christine smiled sadly as she approached the man on the floor. "It was beautiful; I had a lovely day." She could no longer deny her fate, and taking a deep breath, she accepted it. "If it is a solace to you, I think it must have been ten years or so. There were midnight stories about you. Every new ballet girl was told that you would eat her if they dared disturb you." Laughing at such ridiculousness, Christine put another bit of herself behind her the closer she came to Erik. First she shed life, then her childhood fears, next was her teenage and adult fears. 'At least I will not die alone…' She thought cheerily, the darkness becoming oppressive. With a lopsided smile, she held out her hand to Erik, to help him from the floor._  
"_Come; let us go outside, we have nothing to fear now, right? It is only this world below that is not real, non? So let us go somewhere real." Christine suggested, the notion 'If only muted…' passing briefly. Even as she grimaced at the slight twinge she thought might be Raoul, or death approaching her material body, Christine stayed by Erik's side as they materialised to the world above. It was early morning, like so many early mornings before. There was nothing to distinguish the darkness from the encroaching light, but for the knowledge of time that sounded throughout the city._  
"_Why did you choose to live beneath the Opera house in the first place, Erik?" Christine asked curiously, as they meandered through the empty streets of Paris, invisible to all._  
"_One would think that the Opera Garnier would be the last place a person would want to be when the curtain falls."_

_"I chose to live there, because it seemed an adequate place to secede from humanity, and it was." Erik replied quietly, his mind seemingly elsewhere. While Erik wished he could simply relax and enjoy his triumph, he found his grim thoughts distracting. "It was much more pleasant, and being alone had its advantages, it seemed...to begin with. It would be much more clear to you, Christine, if I explained the events of my life- but it will do you better not to hear them." Hardly comprehending his own speech, Erik willed his attention to Christine, glancing down at the young woman steadfastly. Though, this only intensified the guilt that weighed heavy on his chest, and he stifled a sigh. His gaze left Christine, and travelled the street, boarded by elusive structures. "Christine," Erik said suddenly, his attention still forward, manner weary and doleful, "why had you returned? I do not understand; you could have taken the chance to leave me."_

_"I returned because I promised to." Christine replied, her eyes taking in the sights around her. It was strange to be an entirely different form of energy, and still move down the same boulevard as she had in life. "I've said my goodbyes to the person I cared for, and as I said, I have returned to live with you...forever it seems." A dry smile crossed Christine's as she added, "I do not know if I will be the best companion you could have chosen, but I will do right by you, if that is what you are worried about." Her heart seemed light, as she chatted away, knowing that perhaps, she had nothing left to worry about. It also seemed that Erik needed her more then Raoul though she loved the boy still, she forbade herself to think of him as anything more than a brother incarnate.  
"Tell me about your childhood Erik, about your life. Although you say it would be better that I do not know, I think I should know the man who I'll be spending the rest of my li- death with." As encouragement, she took the man's arm, and led him to a stray bench, watching with a faraway gaze, as the night plucked it's first colours from the world._

_Erik shook his head, sinking down on the bench that became solid; it seemed, as his hand laid limply on the wrought iron armrest. "Christine, there is no one else I would possibly want to spend eternity with, and so you are the perfect choice." He assured, glancing over self-effacingly at the young woman, as if afraid to full face her. "And that is why I really wish you would not inquire such, or you will hate me, as you have said you have before. But my life! That is the misery and horror that will cement your loathing." Erik quieted then, considering not continuing and leaving Christine ignorant of his past. Though, what would it matter? She was to be with him forever, regardless of hate or fear. He owed it to the woman, Erik figured, in any case. Since it was impossible for her to love him, it was senseless attempting to keep her uninformed. Straightening up, all emotion seemed to leave Erik's manner, and he began to explain his life, as if it was that of another's. From his miserable childhood, in a town near the Seine River, to his flight from the hate of his parents, to fairs with which he journeyed across Europe. When Erik's story had left Russia, and reached the palace in Mazendaran, his impassiveness faltered, and his manner grew grave. Periodically, he would pause, as if to collect himself, bridging his hands in his lap in discomfiture. The only pride that entered his voice did so, when Erik would childishly begin to explain the makings of his fantastic creations, pantomiming with his hands. His disclosed of his near death was said lightly, marking it as 'a ridiculous attempt' and informing her that his supposed executioner had aided in his escape. Explaining his time, as a normal contractor, who built only normal things, the emotions that fuelled Erik's story seemed to slip away; the jaded air that surrounded him rose again, and he sighed. The Opera house had been his last magnificent work, and his underground retreat, the last hope at concealing himself from mankind. Sinking down on the bench, Erik dared not risk to glance at Christine. "And so you know, I was quite a man! A horrible man." And while Erik appeared mournful, it was only for Christine, who had foolishly sought to hear such an appalling tale, and not for the atrocious crimes he had committed._

_Christine concealed her emotions bravely throughout his tale, smiling and nodding encouragingly as he continued. The sun had denied rising above the charming Parisian street, and it was this that kept her from crying out at the horrors he had inflicted. Her very being rejected it, but the calming sight of gilded streets washing over the park kept her from jumping up and running away. Christine did not need to breathe deeply, finding that no oxygen was needed. Out of habit though, she inhaled, to clear her mind. The sorrow for him though, that he had to start out from such a dark life, cut Christine to the quick. At least her mother had loved her while she had lived, and her father was a kind generous man. What her life would have been like, if that had not been the case, looked bleak.  
"I'm sorry Erik, that life has been so cruel to you. It is not fair the injustices you have had to face..." She meant it as well, in every fibrous bone of her corporeal body. 'I can...feel solid in this life...why?' She wondered._

_With a loud exclamation, of both relief and sorrow, Erik looked toward the young woman. "Only you would say that!" And though his voice sounded lamenting, his golden eyes burned with love for the woman who had so courageously not neither fled nor flung indictments at him. In a gesture of gratitude, Erik took Christine's hands and pressed a kiss to them, as she had once done to his own. And if Erik fancied he had the right, he would have embraced the woman who showed him such a remarkable amount of compassion. Self-reproach struck at him, and left Erik amazed by Christine's small display of empathy, when he had been so forbidding to her. Tears abruptly began to fall and roll down his misshapen cheeks, and with a small, unneeded breath, Erik drew back his hands from Christine, and wiped them away with a feeble laugh. "Ah- I would not be weeping, if I deserved your sympathy." He murmured sadly, and in another moment, was calm again. "Let me here you speak of your own life, Christine, the one that Erik so cruelly had taken from you! It is doubtlessly much lighter than my own."_

_Christine nodded the mention of her own life a painful reminder of what she had left behind. "I was born the only child, into a religious, loving family. My mother was disowned by her father for marrying Papa, for he was only a farmer and musician, while Mama was of noble stature. So we lived modestly on a farm until I was five or six, when Mama fell ill and died." Christine continued to reiterate her bohemian way of life, living with fairs and on the streets. "It was not a difficult life, and I had known it for so long, that it seemed impossible that Papa and I had ever lived in a real home. When I was eight, father bought me a red scarf for my birthday, and that was when I met Raoul." Smiling at the heroic picture of a teenaged Raoul, sopping wet and half-drowned, holding out her soggy scarf._  
"_He never was too bright, but he was the kindest, most gentleperson I'd ever met. He also saved my scarf from the treacherous ocean, and from that day on, he was my constant playmate." Her china smile chipped as she recalled what came next._  
"_My now, adopted aunt, and her husband, who loved to hear my father play, then took in my father and me. Not long after that, my father died, and it was our kind benefactor who sent me to the academy of music in Paris. I was then shafted to the Opera Garnier, to be a ballet dancer and a general chorus girl. I believe you know the rest of my story." Concluding her narrative, Christine stared at her hands folded in her lap, and complimented herself on her steadiness. She had not noticed Erik's tears fully, until she brought her gaze up from her limbs, and to her companion._  
"_Oh- please do not cry Erik, it's almost the start of a new day! No tears are meant for today!" Christine half-quoted a catechism her father always used to say when Christine felt hungry, thirsty, or tired, which was often. She was about to add on, when she felt a strange tugging. She appeared translucent for a split second before she solidified once more. 'What was that?' She wondered. _

_Having expecting Christine's story to be more bright, Erik frowned faintly, to find that it was not completely so. He was amazed, however, that Christine could speak of her life, whilst keeping her composure. Erik started suddenly, she Christine spoke of his tears, his intent gaze wavering. He seemed ready to reply to her, when Christine became translucent before him, and he blinked, and it appeared that nothing had changed. Warily, he bridled, as if expecting Christine to disappear entirely; when she did not, Erik abruptly gripped Christine arm, sinking subtly. "Don't leave!" He instructed, suspecting that Christine was attempting to leave him. "I hadn't done anything to anger you, have I?" Erik inquired desperately, thinking that perhaps, he had upset Christine in the time she had returned to him. And believing she was bitter, as it would be justified, about his past, cruel behaviour and still searching for way to escape._

_Christine shook her head, confused. "I did not try to do anything...and now I feel ill..." Placing a hand on her forehead, she was stunned that she felt even less solid then before. 'How is that possible? I am still here...' Panicked, she looked around, and spotted the reason for her faintness. Raoul was carrying a burden in his arms. A limp one with the distinct shape of a woman. 'Where is he carrying me?' she wondered, only to find he took a turn onto a well-known street. It was that street that led the way to la maison de lune. The shadowy figure of Raoul, visible between the veil of life and death, passed almost within arms reach of Christine, and she could fully see herself. 'It is me! I am dead!' The thought so alarmed her so; she would have retched had she been in a physical form.  
"Erik..." She mewled, a horrid feeling that tore at her soul as she disappeared from her spirit's view. Doubling over, she clutched her chest, unsure whether her heart was beating too fast, or not at all. _

_Releasing Christine, as she fell into distress, worry and alarm set in on Erik, as he watched Christine distraughtly. He followed her gaze, until he too could see the vague outline of the man, who held a woman, whom Christine peered at so intently. Erik stood swiftly, and made as if he would follow, but hesitated and instead turned back to Christine. "Oh- Christine, Christine, what is wrong?" Holding out his hands helplessly; he could not decipher why she seemed to be in such pain. Erik imagined that perhaps it was because she was dying, but he had slipped into death so easily, why was it not for Christine? "It's okay..." Erik murmured affectionately, though in a very low voice, knowing it not to be true and said only, to comfort himself. Kneeling before Christine, he gently placed his hand on Christine's shoulder. "You may leave if it alleviates your pain." Erik offered, it seemed, without his own consent. Though his voice shook faintly in fear, as if it was away of his risk before his mind. "And return when you are well." He added hurriedly, for himself, before his concern returned to Christine._

_Christine's pain logged mind heard Erik's freeing words only, and she nodded. "I'll return when I know why I'm feeling so ill…" She promised. She was gone from the bench in a second, but the transition between her spirit and her body became a painful experience._  
Eyes flinging open, Christine did not wait for grace or manners to sit up in bed, only to find she could not. White straps held her arms to the bed, and no matter how she twisted them, she could not be free of them.  
"Help…someone please untie me…help!" Christine shouted, her voice rising to a shrill crescendo when no one came. As the panic that clawed her mind faded, the girl was able to think more or less with clarity. 'Why am I here?' She wondered, taking her surroundings, and adding them to the mental equation that was building up.  
"Sterile room, restraints, no one answering cries for help…so I'm in the hospital." She concluded, her muscles relaxing completely. "Oh merci Dieu!" Not only had she gotten life back, but she was somewhere were she could easily escape from at night, to visit Erik. The entrance of an unfamiliar woman wearing a grim line interrupted her thoughts. The woman did not speak and though Christine looked at her from the corners of her eyes as she disappeared from view, she could not see what she was doing. It was only when she felt the sharp sting of a needle that she opened her mouth to protest.  
"Where…where am I?" The very words were slurring.  
"Welcome to Charenton Asylum, Mademoiselle, we hope your stay will prove to be short." The nurse said curtly. The drugs that slipped through her veins quelled the panic, and for the first time in months, she had a completely dreamless sleep.


End file.
